


A Paradox In Time

by Th3Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Canon Compliant, F/M, Ginny Weasley Bashing, HMS Harmony Discord's Jily Meets Harmony Challenge, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Canon, Potter Family Feels (Harry Potter), Potter Family-centric (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: Which came first - the past or the future? For Dumbledore, Sirius and the Potters in the 1980's, the answer isn't so clear. The Dark Lord's Vanquisher approaches, but Darkness itself will remain, unless they heed the mysterious advice given now to defeat it in the future, and ensure they all live Harmoniously ever after!Written for the HMS Harmony Discord's "JiLy Meets Harmony" Challenge.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 85
Kudos: 157
Collections: HMS Harmony Discord Writing Fest - Jily Meets Harmony Challenge





	1. Her Name is Hermione

That morning, the game of choice was _word association_.

This was baby Harry Potter’s new favourite pastime. Ever since his baby brain had trained his throat and mouth to make sounds that his _father_ would recognise and understand - for his mother had always known which bits of his babble meant _feed me_ , or _change my nappy_ or _put Thomas the Tank Engine Back On Right Now Or I’ll Scream Down Godric’s Hollow!_ \- this was the only thing that would entertain him.

Though James Potter was _extremely_ glad that it was … for now he could train his son to be part of one of the most complex rituals ever designed by a witch and wizard.

And time was running out. As Halloween approached, James knew that he had to complete his infant son’s conditioning before the Thirty-First. If he didn’t, then all hope would be lost, and any chance he and Lily had of saving their son’s life in the future would be lost with it. If James got this wrong, then the knowledge he had unearthed - regarding Tom Riddle enduring _beyond_ the destruction of his final Horcrux - would die with him in three weeks time.

Then James would once again have to watch his son marry the very _vessel_ that protected the Spirit of Voldemort, and the Dark Arts that would allow her to turn Harry Potter into her own personal slave.

James was determined not to let it come to that. Albus Dumbledore had provided him with the idea, the work around that would allow James and Lily’s resurrection after sixteen years of rest inside Harry’s wand … and the enchanted _feather_ blanket that would keep them warm all that time. He also gave James the best news yet, that he had finally discovered the way to protect Harry’s eternal soul … to slow him up when he was tempted by the rapids of lust.

_Her name is Hermione._

It was a simple note. James still hadn’t told Lily about it, about the girl whose love was the antidote to the Dark Entrapments that nothing could prevent Harry from falling prey to. James wondered what his wife would say when he did, when he passed on the secret that he knew the name of their future daughter-in-law. Lily wouldn’t be happy about being kept in the dark for sure, but she’d soon forgive him when he told her the alternative.

That if they _didn’t_ get involved, their son would end up with a _Cursed Child_ for his bride.

So James had to content himself with the knowledge that Dumbledore’s plan would work, that Harry would grow to be humble and modest, and that the old mage himself would shape Harry as best he could, until his parents could return to finish the job.

It was a risky strategy, one that could go wrong in a thousand ways, but for now it was the best they could do.

Lily knew some pieces of it, of course. She knew, and had cried a million tears over, the fact that she and James had to die on Halloween. Ever since Dumbledore had told them of the Prophecy he’d heard, and his subsequent research into the fine details of it, this cold truth had become etched into Lily’s brain. They had to die, to protect Harry from a mortal enemy, only to return at the opportune moment and save him from a far greater threat. They would watch his life from the core of his wand, which Dumbledore would ensure ended up in Harry’s hands. It wasn’t how Lily had pictured motherhood, but at least she’d be close by and able to protect Harry when his need was greatest.

Then came James’ job at the Department of Mysteries, the theft of the most powerful Time devices housed there, and the confirmation of all their worst fears. Voldemort would target their son - sending his generals to deal with the Longbottoms as an insurance policy, which chilled Lily as she considered her best friend Alice’s fate - and the circle would be complete. It was a circle started in the _future_ , when Harry cast Expelliarmus at Tom Riddle for the third time, and defeated him again. It would become his signature spell - and the only effective defence against The Killing Curse in the history of magic.

And it would save his life ... when Voldemort tried to murder him on Halloween.

This was the part that Lily didn’t understand, and that Dumbledore lacked the language to explain. This solution had come _from_ the future, he’d said, but his language was allegorical and full of more riddles than Voldemort himself.

“Everything that happens, Lily, in the past and in the future, arises from the past, and only by _understanding_ the past, can we make our way in the future.”

Lily was baffled by that. But James seemed to know more about it. He was holding something back from her, but she knew better than to push him on it. They didn’t keep secrets from each other, it was one of the enchanted promises they’d made at their wedding. So, if he wasn’t telling her something, she knew the secrecy itself was important, and that she’d know whatever it was when she needed to.

Which is why the scene which greeted her on entering her house that morning didn’t surprise her. James and Harry were playing word association again. Sat facing each other cross-legged in front of the fireplace, James would say a word, then Harry would titter out the correct response as he gave his father a clumsy _high-5_. They must have been at it a while, Lily reasoned, for James was already at the sing-song stage.

“Avada Kedavra!” James chimed. “Expelliarmus! Avada Kedavra - Expelliarmus! Avada Kedavra …”

James urged Harry to finish the song.

“Essel-er-are-mus,” Harry tried, causing Lily’s heart to melt at his cuteness as she watched from the doorway.

“Almost,” James grinned encouragingly. “Try again … _Expelliarmus!”_

“Expel Earmuffs!” Harry giggled. Then he looked up. “Mama!”

Harry clambered up onto his stubby little legs before padding over to Lily, who scooped him up and snuggled him close.

“He’s getting better,” James grinned as he turned to look at his wife and son.

“We’ll get him there,” Lily replied confidently. “Three weeks is plenty for this little learning machine. Mind you, I should have asked for some parenting directions from the people who are buying Mum and Dad’s old house. They know a thing or two about talkative children.”

James offered Lily a weak smile. He didn’t want to give her pity, knowing how much she hated him doing so. It hadn’t been six months since her mother had passed away, but they had chosen to sell Lily’s childhood home to provide a nice little trust fund for Harry while they still had time. They had bought Petunia out of the inheritance as an unseen present to Harry on his first birthday back in July. It pained her to sever the link with her youth, James could see that, but Lily was the strongest person he knew and abhorred anything that might have been construed as weakness in her character.

“They do?” James queried.

Lily nodded. “And you’ll never guess who it is. It was the most bizarre thing.”

“I’m listening,” James encouraged. “I’ll just stick the kettle on. I’m sure you fancy a cuppa.”

“Always,” Lily grinned, sitting on the couch and bouncing baby Harry in her lap. He gurgled happily and tried again to say Expelliarmus properly, to impress his Mum.

“So, who’s buying the place?”

“Well do you remember the old couple next door, Mr and Mrs Granger?” Lily began. “Well, the husband passed away about the same time as Mum, and the old dear can’t really look after herself anymore. So her son bought my old place so he can keep an eye on her. I haven’t seen David since we were kids. It was the weirdest coincidence.”

“Old boyfriend, eh?” James teased, as he took teabags from the kitchen cupboard.

“Funnily enough he _was_ my first kiss,” Lily mused playfully. "And a big, sloppy one it was, too!"

“Should I be jealous?”

“Maybe. I was about seven at the time. And I was the one who kissed _him_. I never have been backwards about coming forwards, as you know. So you’ll have to decide if you have a love rival there!”

“I knew I was practising Avada Kedavra for a reason!” James quirked. Then he narrowed his eyes seriously. “So, this David … is he single?”

Lily hooted out a laugh. “No, he’s happily married. I met his wife, Catrin, and their little girl. She’s only about Harry’s age, maybe a bit older, but she’s so talkative. I had a full on conversation with her. Chats at about a million miles an hour, but she’s bright as a button. Cute little thing, too. _Masses_ of hair. I’d have loved a go at braiding _that_. Not only that, but she was _dripping_ in magic. I could tell. I didn't say anything to David, obviously, but they have a little witch on their hands there. I'd bet my racing broom that she's already on one of Minerva's lists somewhere!”

James chuckled heartily. “And did she have a name?”

“Oh yes,” Lily smiled, as James placed a mug of tea in front of her. “Hermione Jane Granger. It seemed to be very important to her that I remembered her middle name, so she told it to me about a dozen times. What? What is it? ... Why have you gone so pale?”

James swallowed hard as he processed the news. His mind was focused solely on the little note hidden at the bottom of his sock drawer upstairs.

_Her name is Hermione._

“Hermione … you’re absolutely certain that was her name?” James asked sheepishly

“Yes, I was only speaking to her an hour ago. Why? What’s so special about that name?”

“Oh … nothing much,” James replied nervously. “Apart from it being the name of our future _daughter-in-law_ , obviously.” 

* * *

Author notes:

The Jily Meets Harmony Challenge Must include:

  1. James/Lily and Harry/Hermione strictly.
  2. James and Lily must be alive. Either by surviving Halloween, coming back to life, or their canon deaths never happening/being avoided. (Can include either Time Travel or a Canon Divergence event)
  3. Sirius should also live and be free/exonerated.
  4. Lily must at some point braid Hermione's hair.
  5. James and Harry must at some point fly together
  6. Harry cannot have a Boy Who Lived (Or Wrong Boy Who Lived) sibling.
  7. No Jily bashing



Optional:

  1. Line from James: "Are you sure you don't fancy Hermione?"
  2. Line from Lily: "You know, Harry is lucky to have you."
  3. Line from Sirius: "I'm trying to decide which pair of you lovebirds is more [__]."
  4. Preferably avoids common tropes (overdone bashing, love potions etc)




	2. Just In Case

_**Seventeen years later ...** _

“You know, I think it’s supposed to look like sails on a ship. But I’m not convinced. What do you think?”

Harry sat up, tilted his aviator sunglasses down, took an appraising look at the famous opera house across the water, and turned to Hermione with a quirky, playful expression.

“I think you’re sounding like the guidebook again!” he chortled. “If you’re angling for a job, the guy on the cruise boat tour was _rubbish_. I’m sure you could do better!”

“Thanks … I think!” Hermione laughed.

She lounged back and stretched out alongside him. Harry hadn’t noticed how slinky and lithe she was before. He supposed it was because he wasn’t used to seeing her without her overloaded school satchel dragging her spine into a painful arc. Even that little bag she carried during the Horcrux Hunt weighed her down, and if not that then the Locket Horcrux was a burden when it came time for her to wear it. He knew that she, like him, would have had a sore patch of flesh on her chest as a memento of the cursed object.

But it would have sat right in the middle of her perky breasts, so Harry didn’t think it was appropriate to ask to see it. At least not without a beer or two in his belly first!

Harry laughed aloud at the very thought. Hermione turned her head and raised her eyebrows at him.

“What’s so funny?” she asked gently.

“What _isn’t_?” Harry quipped back. “We’ve survived Voldemort, we’re here in the Sydney sun having a great time, your parents are recovering in the hotel … it just feels like _winning_.”

“And that’s _funny_?” Hermione queried with a laugh.

“It is to me,” Harry grinned. “I haven’t felt like I’ve been _allowed_ to laugh for the longest time. Not properly, you know? It’s like ‘ _how can I laugh, when Voldemort is out there killing people?’ …_ but now he’s gone. And we’re here in the sun, just you and me. I cant think of a better way to be right now.”

“And you like that? That it’s just the two of us? You wouldn’t rather Ron or Ginny be here?”

Harry sat up on his elbows. “Hermione … have you seen how _ginger_ they are? I’d be afraid that they might combust in all this Aussie heat!”

Hermione hooted out a laugh. “Oh, Harry … you’re _terrible!_ ”

“Dont tell Ginny I said that,” Harry told her warningly.

“You know, telling me secrets to keep from your girlfriend _could_ be seen as very naughty, Harry,” Hermione purred sultrily. Harry shivered oddly, despite the scorching afternoon sun beating down on him. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“I don’t keep secrets from you, Hermione, you know that,” Harry replied simply. “I’d swear a bond on that, to never keep things from you.”

“You would?” Hermione asked, surprised. “That’s … that’s actually quite a lovely thing to offer, Harry. I wish you weren’t so sweet. It makes it so hard not to fancy you!”

Harry laughed deeply at her playful teasing. “You can fancy me if you want. I wont tell anyone.”

“Thanks!” Hermione chuckled. “I have permission to fancy The Boy Who … what is it they’re calling you these days? I lose track of your monikers and titles!”

“Just _Harry_ will do, if you please, Miss G,” Harry frowned. “But you might have to get in line. _Witch Weekly_ wants to give me the _Most Charming Smile Award_ and _Mizz Sorceress_ has me down to win _Rear of the Year_! Can you believe that? I don’t know if I’m supposed to be offended at being so blatantly objectified by the young witches of Great Britain!”

Hermione gave him a shrewd look. “Well … do you like the admiration?”

Harry blushed coyly. “A little bit, yeah.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “There we go then. If it makes you feel better, you have my vote.”

“Oh, you like my smile then?”

“Who said anything about _that_ award?” Hermione grinned flirtily. She felt very racy, it must have been the heat or the glass of wine she’d had at lunch. “I’ll have you know I think you have a _very_ nice bum!”

Harry flushed all over. “Um … thanks? I didn’t know you’d looked.”

“I’ve looked,” Hermione confirmed vampishly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry thought about it. He found that he didn’t.

“No, you’re welcome to look any time you want,” Harry grinned. “Best friend privileges and all that!”

Hermione giggled again. “Sounds fair enough. On that note, would you feel awkward if I took my shirt off? I’ve got my bikini top on and it’d be a shame to waste this tanning weather.”

Harry gulped. “Go for it. You’ve had to put up with my pasty skin on this trip so I’m sure I can tolerate yours!”

Hermione laughed lyrically again and unbuttoned her cotton shirt, throwing it on top of Harry’s discarded t-shirt when she was done. Harry blinked hard. He had never seen so _much_ of Hermione, and he felt instantly rueful about that fact. She was svelte and smooth under all that fabric, her milky skin shining in the sunlight and glistening with a light layering of sweat. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her chest.

“You can look at my face if you want!” Hermione teased.

But Harry was scowling and far from playful. Without thinking, he reached out and ran his hands the length of Hermione’s cleavage. She gasped softly, but didn’t pull away.

“Harry … we’re supposed to have a date and a kiss or two before I let you touch me like that!” Hermione breathed huskily.

“Dont be daft,” Harry chided. He was still smoothing the damaged skin between her boobs. “Your scar … it’s almost as big as mine. Did you _really_ wear the Horcrux that long?”

Hermione breathed in deeply as she understood. “We were equals, Harry. As always. So of course I did my share. And … especially after Ron went …”

Hermione’s words tailed off. They’d only tried to discuss this once in the aftermath of the war, but it made them both soberly bitter. It would lead to something if they openly discussed it … something like _resentment_. So they ignored it.

But here was Hermione, physically scarred by the betrayal. Harry couldn’t let it go anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, tracing the scar tissue with his fingertips. Hermione gasped and shuddered with the gentle tickles of it. But she _still_ didn’t pull back. But Harry’s thoughts seemed a billion miles away. “I … I should never have let him back. If I’d know he’d done this to you …”

“Harry - _Ron_ didn’t do this, the Horcrux did,” Hermione breathed. Her chest was heaving. She wished Harry would stop touching her like this, or rather she wished that she _wanted_ him to stop. But in that moment she was mindless to just enjoy it, to thrill at the intimacy of this contact. It wasn’t allowed, and the forbidden nature of it was delicious.

“Your beautiful skin … your wonderful body … broken like this …”

Harry seemed to be talking to himself more than Hermione. But he showed no inclination to stop his circular caresses. A month ago in England, he wouldn’t have dared to be this brazen. But they’d shared things this month, on this journey to recover Hermione’s parents. They’d cried together, laughed together, let their hurt go together. And the experience had brought them ridiculously closer, and they were pretty much entwined before all this. Some part of both was dreading the day when they had to return home and give up this intimacy.

But this felt like they’d crossed a boundary without even flinching at the border. Even when they’d shared a sleeping bag in the Bush, Harry had insisted on laying back-to-back … _just in case_. He said his body often struggled to tell the difference between a sexy woman and the vibrations of the Knight Bus. The last thing he wanted was to wake up and find he was poking Hermione in the base of her spine … he’d never live it down and her giggles would haunt him forever!

“I never knew you thought I had a beautiful body,” Hermione joked. “You should have said!”

“You should have shown me sooner!” Harry smiled, lightening up at Hermione’s playfulness. “If I’d known you were hiding _thi_ s I’d have never let you put yourself at risk.”

Harry finally took his hand away from Hermione’s chest to gesture at her. She felt colder for the loss of his touch.

“Ah, so now I know why you left Ginny behind when we went looking for Horcruxes!” Hermione laughed. “You only wanted to protect the sexy girls!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry quizzed. “I think you’re sexy. I mean, I’m _looking_ at it!”

“I should tell you off for that, Harry. I’m not an ‘ _it’_. You’re objectifying me.”

“You objectified _me …_ but you’re right. I’m sorry. _”_

Hermione sighed. “I’m _kidding,_ Harry! Best friend privileges, remember?”

Harry frowned. “Hermione … why _have_ we only ever been _best friends?_ Have you ever thought about that?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked shakily. Where was Harry going with this?

“Well, I mean, I don’t know a lot of people as close as you and I are,” Harry began. “And tons of people have thought that something was going on between us at different times. But it never has. That’s weird, don’t you think?”

“Which part?”

“Well … _all of it_ , I suppose,” Harry mused. “One, that we’re so close; two, that so many people see this _thing_ between us; and three, that _we_ don’t. Why don’t we?”

“Harry - I’m not entirely sure I know what you’re getting at,” Hermione replied in a small voice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable …”

“No! It isn’t that!” Hermione shrieked quickly. “It’s just … you’ve never talked about this before. What’s different? Why bring this up now?”

Harry gulped. “Can I be honest … without getting a slap?”

Hermione smirked at him. “That depends how crass you plan to be. Make a start, and we’ll see how you go!”

“Okay, well, I’m looking at you now and do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I’m only half sure I want to …”

“I think you look hotter than the sun up there,” Harry blurted out. Every inch of Hermione ‘s exposed skin turned a shade of crimson. “But it’s weird. I _know_ how beautiful you look, but it’s like I cant _feel_ it. In my head I’m wondering what the rest of you looks like without those clothes on, but I don’t feel like I want to sleep with you. But that’s wrong, because I _should_. I mean … I know I _shouldn’t_ , because you’re going out with Ron and it would ruin our friendship and stuff … but as a boy looking at a pretty girl … I so _would_.”

“Harry … you shouldn’t be saying these things to me,” Hermione muttered. “It isn’t that they’re horrible to hear - or that I don’t like you saying them - but it’s just … I don’t understand the timing.”

“This trip has just got me thinking,” Harry confessed. He had to go all in now he’d begun. “About us.”

“ _Us_?”

“I was thinking, that day we went to watch the sunrise in Melbourne,” Harry ploughed on. “I was thinking that you tick all my boxes for everything I’d want in a perfect girlfriend. But I’ve never been allowed to consider it. It’s like some cruel, omnipotent author was writing my life but never gave me the chance to consider you romantically. And I still cant. I think of you and I think _sister_ … but I _see_ you and think something _very_ different. You do things to my heart and soul that scream for something … but it’s like there’s a barrier between me and whatever that is.”

“What … what are you saying, Harry?” Hermione whispered. Her heart and mind had totally lost control. She felt dazed by Harry’s confession.

“I’m just asking, as a last favour,” Harry begged. “That before you commit to Ron, and I commit to Ginny, can we check … just in case?”

“In case of what?”

“I don’t know,” Harry moaned. “But something has started to niggle at me. And I just want to be sure. Don’t you?”

Hermione sighed and looked up at the sunny sky. She thought she was sure of everything, but if she knew one truth in her life it was this - Harry Potter had good instincts and they were nearly always right. It was enough to convince her to make this commitment to him.

“Okay, Harry. I promise to look into it with you. But … there is one thing we really should agree on.”

“What’s that?”

“We … probably shouldn’t share a room anymore. You know … just in case.”

Harry nodded solemnly and agreed. Or, at least, _half_ of him did.


	3. A Matter of Time

****_October 10_ ** ** ****_ th _ ** ** ****_, 1981_ ** **

“So let me get this right in my head, before I ask you to explain to me again,” Sirius began, placing his coffee cup down with exasperated movements. He rubbed his temples and scowled at James again. “You’re trying to tell me that you saw something in a Time Wheel, a vision of the future?”

“Yes,” James confirmed.

“A future where _that_ little boy,” Sirius continued, pointing at baby Harry who, at that moment, was zooming up and down the living room on his toy broom. “Your son … married a _Weasley_ girl?”

“Correct,” James nodded.

“Okay. Now, far be it from me to be the voice of reason and point out the bleedin’ obvious,” Sirius twittered. “But … you _know_ that’s impossible, don’t you? A Weasley girl? You’re having me on!”

“I’m being serious,” James argued back. “This is my serious face.”

He made an exaggerated sort of grimace to demonstrate his point.

“Well, this is my _Sirius_ face,” Sirius smirked. “And I’m asking if you’ve finally lost your mind? Your son _cannot_ marry a Weasley girl!”

“Ah! At last! Something we agree on!” James smirked.

At that moment Harry seemed to agree, too. Or, at least, he made some grunting noises from the top end of the room.

“Urgh! Urgh! No, no! Dada! Harry stuck!”

James looked over fondly, for Harry had gotten himself jammed in the corner of the room. His toy broom was knocking incessantly against the walls, with Harry unable to turn to freedom. James got up and trotted over, setting Harry facing back down the room again.

“There you go, son,” James hummed. “Go for it!”

“ _Weeeeee!”_ Harry cried, as he zoomed off towards the giant skeleton in the other corner of the living room.

“We might agree,” Sirius went on. “But the reasons are very different. Harry _cant_ marry a Weasley girl, not because there’s anything wrong with that, apart from the obvious - i.e. Molly - … but more that they cant _have_ daughters in that family. You know the story.”

“Yes, yes, we all sat through Binns’ lecture at Hogwarts,” James replied dismissively. “Gellert Grindelwald promised them a daughter, one who would lead Britain into the future, as a Mother of the Greater Good, or whatever he was going to call them. A very _dark_ future as he promised. And then _this_ gentleman handed old Gellert his arse on a silver platter.”

Dumbledore smiled benignly and placed his cup of Earl Grey down onto its saucer with a little clink. “I do not believe it is written on my Chocolate Frog card in _quite_ the same way. And I consider achieving Frog immortality to be one of my crowning achievements. So, let us stick to the facts.”

“The facts being that you defeated Grindelwald before he was able to cross the English Channel,” James went on, tipping his own tea cup in a gesture of respectful salute. “And that the families who were waiting to welcome him, and provide him the social infrastructure he craved, were rightly and summarily punished, the Weasleys chief amongst them.”

“That I cannot deny,” Dumbledore allowed with a curt nod.

“But what does this have to do with the girl you discovered?” Sirius pressed. “That’s where I’m losing track.”

Dumbledore sighed and considered Sirius sternly. “As I mentioned, I have been receiving communications from an unknown source, a source pointing me towards events taking place in the future that will change our reality _now_. The messages are cryptic and often difficult to decipher, but they tie in to the Prophecy I heard regarding the defeat of Lord Voldemort … and young Harry’s role in it.”

At the mention of his name, Harry turned his head and crawled over to Dumbledore. He was distracted by the moon spurs on the back of his hobnailed boots, giggling and gurgling as he span them round and round with his chunky little fingers.

“In fact,” Dumbledore continued, beaming down at baby Harry. “I believe these messages are actually coming _from_ the future. And the messenger has taken steps to protect me from whatever changes are coming.”

“How?” asked Sirius.

“By sending me _this.”_

Dumbledore reached into his robes and took out a little golden device. A wheel within a wheel, and between them a tiny hourglass was suspended. Sirius looked at it in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Merlin’s big hairy bollocks!” he exclaimed. “Is that a _Ti_ _me-Turner?”_

“It is,” Dumbledore nodded.

“But … I thought they were all destroyed?” Sirius hushed. “The Ministry deemed Time too dangerous to meddle with.”

“You are quite right,” Dumbledore smiled. “But, here one is. Not only _that_ , but I know who constructed it.”

“You do?” asked James, suddenly interested. “How?”

“An engraving, probably left by the craftsman,” Dumbledore explained. “Remember, gentleman, that Time-Turners were originally invented by ancient alchemists - the quintessential Masters of Time - forgive the pun. The more they could repeat time, the more powerful their Elixirs would become and the more vast the gold they could acculumate. So whoever built this one must have been an alchemist of prodigious skill.”

“And who was it?” Sirius pushed. “Can you show me the engraving?”

“Certainly.”

Dumbledore offered the Time-Turner to Sirius, who looked at it closely and read the engraving.

 _“A.P.W.B.D?”_ Sirius recited. “And you know who that is?”

“Indeed, I do,” Dumbledore smiled gently. “For that ... is _me!”_

“You?” James hushed. “You know how to build a Time-Turner?”

“I do not, and I have never constructed one before,” Dumbledore confessed. “But … evidently … _I will_. And, at some point in the future, I will give this Time-Turner to whoever the mysterious messenger is who returned it to me.”

“And that’s how you found out the name of the girl?” Sirius pressed.

Dumbledore nodded. “The Time-Turner not only allows travel through time, but the _viewing_ of the events it witnessed. The Wheels, you see, are the key. They allowed me to see who the person was who used it last, to learn who _she_ was.”

“ _Her name is Hermione_ …” James breathed lowly, his heart hammering under his ribs as comprehension settled on him.

“Her name is Hermione,” Dumbledore echoed.

James sat back to consider the enormity of it. For a while, the only sound was the soft clicking of the moon spur where Harry was spinning it madly at Dumbledore’s feet.

“This girl … this _Hermione_ _…_ used the Time-Turner _with_ Harry,” Dumbledore went on quietly. “They did two things of great importance, and when they did, _she_ became a Master of Time. Able to change the future for good, without destroying the very fabric of existence.”

“Destroy the what?” Sirius asked, slightly overwhelmed.

“Meddling with Time is extremely dangerous,” Dumbledore went on. “To change the past you are also changing the _future_ of whatever came before. No single event stands randomly in time. If you change something significant, then you change all the events that led up to that point. So the ripples travel _backwards_ through the space-time continuum, as well as changing _your_ reality in the future. If done recklessly, the very tapestry of existence would simply fall apart.

“But young _Hermione_ was able to change time without causing such catastrophe. To be able to hold all those variables in one moment would require a remarkable mind, and the sort of power even I cannot begin to comprehend.”

“That’s some skill,” James grinned. “She’ll make him a proper wife. Harry, son, I very much approve of Hermione!”

“Her-my-marry,” Harry babbled.

“Yes, Harry, marry Hermione!” James laughed.

“Marry Her-my-mamary,” Harry promised as faithfully as a fifteen-month-old could. Then he went back to his spinning.

“So, what were these two great deeds?” asked Sirius.

“The first one was saving an important life,” Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling. “And the other was setting their own union off down an inevitable path to lifelong happiness, for they flew together on a Hippogriff after saving _its_ life.”

“And that’s important?” James queried.

“It is,” Dumbledore smiled. “For to save a _symbol of love_ from being killed, they received a blessing in return … the gift of a powerful and eternal love between _each other_.”

“One divine, selfless act deserves another,” Sirius nodded in understanding. “And who was the important life they saved?”

Dumbledore leant forward dramatically. “Why … it was _yours_ , Sirius.”

Sirius blinked in his shock. “Me? They saved _me_?”

“From the Kiss of a Dementor, yes,” Dumbledore confirmed. “And as for why you are so important, the reason is simple and two fold. Firstly, Harry will need a parental figure in the future, as I believe James has told you.”

“He has, but I’m still determined to stop _that_ ,” Sirius insisted bullishly. “I am the Secret Keeper of this cottage, Dumbledore. And I’d sooner face Avada Kedavra myself than give that secret up!”

“An admirable sentiment, but ultimately futile,” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “James and Lily will die … they _must_ … to protect Harry now and in the future. Your task will be to make sure Harry is safe and well for when they return. You must also act as a gentle guide to Harry, to prompt him towards realising his love for this girl without being overt about it.”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Sirius quirked. “Why must I be so subtle, though?”

“Because _Hermione_ says you must be,” Dumbledore explained. “She knows that to provoke Harry into a relationship would make it unnatural. They are destined to be together, it is the gift they have been given and it is what both their eternal energies _desire_ above all other things. But it cannot be contrived for any purpose ... it has to just _happen_. To intervene in any sort of blatant way will pervert the natural order of things. Harry _must_ come to the realisation organically. That is what happened with the Weasley girl. Somewhere, somehow, nature has been subverted ... and the effects are damaging _all_ our futures.”

“But how are you sure that this girl and the one Lily met are the same?” Sirius asked to James. “I’m sure there are plenty of 'Hermiones' out there.”

“You may be right, but you are forgetting our history,” James grinned knowingly. “The Weasley family curse, remember? They weren’t allowed to have daughters, so that Grindelwald’s Promise wouldn’t come to pass. And do you remember the name of the wizard who _placed_ the curse? A wizard who - curiously enough - appears _nowhere_ else in the historical record … almost as if he simply popped into being to perform this famous deed. Do you remember his name?”

Sirius gasped in surprise. “It was … Granger _… Hector Dagworth-Granger_!”

James nodded smugly.

“Remember the name as long as you can,” Dumbledore advised darkly. “Because, if things keep changing as they are, his deed may be completely forgotten by history. Or, should I say, _her_ deed. And my old friend Gellert may get his wish after all.”


	4. Supernova

Hermione had taken a bold decision. She was going to come out of the shower draped in just her towels, as usual. One was wrapped, turban like, around her hair, while the other would protect her modesty, if Harry stopped watching _Ancient Aliens_ long enough to notice her. She didn’t quite know if she wanted him to or not. Sometimes, when she left the shower in other hotels in other cities, she often thought that Harry was sneaking glances at her out of the corners of his eyes, as if he thought she wouldn’t notice him doing it.

But she’d noticed, and she was astonished to find that she didn’t mind him looking if he wanted to.

In fact, it thrilled her far more than she knew it should. Her rational mind knew _why_ Harry would be glancing at her like that, but that same logic would argue that it was _Harry_ … and that he didn’t _want her_ like that, so why else would he be looking? Which made her a bit cross, if she was honest. Okay, so she wasn’t Olympic-swimmer fit, but she wasn’t _Olympe Maxime_ heffa-sized, either.

In any case, Harry seemed to _like_ looking … _whatever_ it was that Hermione looked like. She just couldn’t rationalise _why_.

And now, ever since his declaration two days ago, Hermione found that she was strangely shy around him. Ever since she’d asked him - and _only_ him - to come to Australia to help locate her parents, they had sunbathed together, swam in remote lagoons together - albeit in their underwear - and shared multiple beds together. But now, it seemed that such things had become so taboo that to suggest any of the like again was akin to committing a heinous crime.

Which is why Hermione had needed to corral all of her courage to exit the bathroom dressed just in towels. There was always the possibility that she hadn’t wrapped tightly enough, and whereas before - if her towels had fallen - that might have been a funny story to tell, Hermione _now_ thought it might be a flirty little precursor to _something else_. Though why such things were dominating her mind she was at a loss to explain.

It was like a dam had broken in her brain, and she had no idea how she was supposed to stem it.

So it was with a curious sense of disappointment that all her racy little plans came to nought, as she found her room frustratingly Harry-less when she exited the bathroom. Instead, she found her mother lounging on the bed, watching the twenty-four hour cookery channel, in preference to Harry’s addiction to the bizarre conspiracy theory that aliens had built the Pyramids of Giza.

“Mum?” Hermione queried, tightening her towels and wondering immediately why she had left them _quite_ so loose in the first place. “What are you doing in here? Is everything alright?”

Catrin Granger turned to her daughter. Her eyes still retained a hint of the glassy glaze that the Memory Modification Charm had caused, though the St Mungo’s Healers - who had taught Hermione the reversal spell - insisted this would fade over time. Hermione hoped that it would vanish sooner rather than later … the guilt it stirred in her on seeing it made her physically sick.

“Oh, yes honey,” Catrin replied brightly. “Everything’s fine. Your Dad and Harry have gone down to the bar. There’s something called the _FA Cup Final_ on television apparently. They were both very excited about watching it.”

“Hold on,” Hermione smirked. “Dad and Harry have gone to watch the football and have a beer or two? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that,” Catrin grinned back. “I’ve pretty much pussy-whipped your father over the years … I think he’s actually enjoying a bit of masculine company for a change!”

Hermione closed her eyes in her horror. “Mum, please … _never_ use the phrase _pussy-whipped_ to describe you and Dad again! No amount of therapy - magical or Muggle - will remove _that_ notion from my brain!”

Catrin laughed heartily. “Oh, don’t be such an old prude, Hermione! We’d didn’t raise you to be so silly! Your father and I are healthy, loving adults … and we enjoy healthy, _adult_ activities …”

“Mum … stop!” Hermione begged. “I don’t want to have to perform a Memory Modifying Charm on myself to forget this conversation!”

Catrin chuckled again. “So, is there a problem with Harry socialising with your father alone? _He_ didn’t seem to think there was.”

“Problem? No. Why would there be?”

“Oh … I don’t know,” Catrin hinted shrewdly. “Just seems like there might be an _announcement_ in the offing, that’s all.”

Hermione shifted nervously and adjusted her towels. “Why do you think that? What could we possibly announce? I told you I had a boyfriend back in England.”

“And yet you brought _Harry_ to find us … and he came willingly, leaving his own girlfriend behind,” Catrin smirked. “Seems a little unusual.”

“Ron and Ginny have just lost a brother,” Hermione tried to explain. “We thought they needed space to grieve.”

“That’s fair enough,” Catrin conceded. “So explain to me why Harry looks at you like you’re the centre of his world … and you look at him like you want to rip his clothes off?”

“ _Mother!_ ” Hermione shrieked. “What a thing to say!”

“Maybe. But am I wrong?”

Hermione went to say that she was, but hesitated for half a second. It might have been a lifetime.

“See?” Catrin smirked. “Talk to me, my girl. I know that you want to.”

Hermione sighed deeply. It wasn’t her usual huff. She normally gave that in resistance, but she genuinely craved her mother’s guidance on this, and was glad she had brought it up. She always knew when Hermione was in need.

“Truth is, Mum, I think I’ve made a massive mistake … and I don’t know what to do,” Hermione began in a small voice.

“What sort of mistake?” Catrin pressed, muting the television and turning to face her daughter.

“I, sort of, kissed Ron … you know, my other friend,” Hermione confessed.

Catrin gasped aloud. “Don’t tell me _he’s_ your boyfriend? The one who always has dirt on his nose and smells like old cabbage?”

“He … _what_?” Hermione quirked. “Ron doesn’t smell like cabbage … does he?”

“Reeks of it,” Catrin grimaced. “We never liked to bring it up, of course, but if he bathed in vinegar he’d turn into sauerkraut. Hermione, baby … _why_? We know he’s your friend, but … he looks like a scarecrow. You can do better than a scarecrow, love.”

“Well, that’s sort of the thing,” Hermione began, trying to not picture Ron stood in a field covered in birds. Harry once said he had a dream about Ron being a soft, slow bird, whatever that meant. “I … I only started thinking about Ron because I, sort of, _gave up_ on Harry. Only, I never really did. And now he’s said some things to me … and I don’t know what to do.”

“Right, let’s start at the beginning,” Catrin announced decisively. “Tell me about giving up on Harry.”

Hermione blushed as she sat back against the headboard of the bed. “Well, I’ve always fancied Harry a bit, ever since he saved me from a twelve-foot-troll in our first year. Made me feel like a princess in a fairy tale, rescued by a handsome prince or something. But I always thought it was just a little crush, it would go away eventually.

“Only, it _didn’t._ Harry never said he liked me back, but because he didn’t say he _didn’t_ fancy me, either, I suppose that flame of _maybe_ never went out. But the longer it went on, I just accepted it wouldn’t happen.”

“So you never totally let it go?” Catrin asked gently.

Hermione shook her head. “I suppose I was waiting for that decisive moment … his _supernova_ of confirmation. I was waiting for that flash of light, like thunder screaming out for lightening. But it never came. So a _tiny_ bit of me never gave up. I never had that last goodbye … I never got over it … and now …”

“Harry’s told you he likes you?” Catrin finished off shrewdly.

“His exact words were that I would be his perfect girlfriend,” Hermione flushed. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“You’re _supposed_ to offer to _be_ his girlfriend … but I assume you didn’t?”

Hermione shook her head. “We both have partners, Mum.”

“In relationships less than a month old,” Catrin dismissed. “In your short lives, you’ve probably spent more time vomiting. I’ll spend longer vomiting if I know you’re dating that human matchstick model!”

Hermione laughed at that. “Mum, please! Don’t say things like that! I’m trying to get some sage advice here.”

“Is that what you want? Well, that’s easy,” Catrin grinned brightly. “Get shot of Ron before you get too deep in, and throw yourself at Harry like you’ve always wanted to. I swear that I’ve never seen a look in someone’s eyes like he reserves for you. You find that sometimes, that the boys who are the quietest are the most intense, that love the fiercest and deepest. I’d call it _love_ … but somehow it doesn’t seem enough with how Harry looks at you. What else could I use? Adoration? Worship? Even they don’t quite hit the spot. Whatever it is, if someone looks at you like _that_ you want to keep them. So keep _him._ ”

Hermione didn’t know how to even process that statement, let alone how to reply to it. So she just goggled at her mother with her mouth hanging open for a full minute.

“You … you really _mean_ that, don’t you?” Hermione muttered eventually.

“Of course I do,” Catrin replied. “Harry is the best thing to happen to you … has _always_ been the best thing to happen to you. Ever since you first met him.”

Hermione grinned fondly as she remembered. “Yeah, that was a serendipitous train ride.”

Now it was Catrin’s turn to shift awkwardly. Hermione noticed it with a frown.

“Mum … what’s wrong?”

Catrin closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “Harry has said something more, hasn’t he? Apart from thinking you’re perfect for him?”

Hermione blushed again at her mother’s vocalisation of Harry’s declaration. “Yes, he’s asked me to look into why he isn’t overtly attracted to me, despite his body telling him he should be. Why do you ask?”

Catrin looked at her daughter as seriously as she ever had. “Hermione, whatever you do in the next days and weeks … _follow this through_. Forget helping me and your dad, forget whatever you had planned for this new _relationship_ of yours. Focus on this … focus on Harry. Make sure that _supernova_ of yours never happens.”

“Mum … you aren’t making any sense,” Hermione replied breathlessly. “And you’re scaring me a bit. What’s going on?”

“I’m just saying … do you remember the first time you and Harry met?” Catrin asked cryptically.

“Of course I do!”

“Dont be so sure,” Catrin warned. “What I’m trying to tell you is … if you _don’t_ investigate this … you and Harry will _never_ meet.”

Hermione felt all colour leave her body, her breath, too. “Who told you that?”

Catrin blinked simply at her daughter. “ _You_ did.”


	5. A Strand Down the Middle

Lily started by delicately taking a large section of hair in her hands and dividing it into four, even strands.

She placed the first strand carefully over the second one, continuing under the third and back up over the final strand. From this position, she took the new third strand, crossed it over the second one and under the first strand. She repeated the procedure until she could see that the braiding had a very obvious strand in the middle. It was going well, and Lily smiled to herself that she hadn’t forgotten this complicated technique.

The little girl, sat obediently still in the crook of her lap, turned her head up as Lily paused to admire her handiwork.

“Will I look pretty when you are finished, Miss Lily?”

Lily smiled down. “I think you _already_ look pretty … Miss _Hermione_.”

The little girl beamed back up radiantly. “Will you put daises in my hair when you are done? I have some. I like daisies.”

Hermione held out her tiny hands and offered Lily the white and yellow flowers she had collected from the garden. She had crushed some of them in her eagerness to not miss a single one.

“I can do that, sweetie,” Lily replied. “And how about I put a big lily at the top?”

“Ooh! Because _you’re_ called Lily! Can you? _Pleeeasse?”_

Lily laughed softly. “Of course I will.”

“Pleeeaassee! Pleeaassee! Ha ha ha. Pleeasse!”

Lily and tiny Hermione turned to the sing song voice just to their right. It was coming from baby Harry, who was turning Hermione’s plea into a funny sort of rhyme to entertain himself.

“What’s his name?” Hermione asked, turning her head up to Lily.

“It’s _Harry_. He’s my little boy."

“Why cant he say his own name?” Hermione demanded with a little frown.

“He can, sometimes,” Lily replied. “He just cant talk as well as you can yet, for you’re ever such a clever little girl. Perhaps you could help him?”

Hermione gave a cute sort of huff and turned to Harry, as Lily continued on with her braid.

“Can you say _my_ name?” Hermione said briskly to Harry. “Try it … _Her-my-oh-knee_.”

Harry scrunched his brow. “ _Her-me-only.”_

 _“_ No, no, you’re doing it all _wrong!”_ tiny Hermione giggled, mildly cross at her failure to teach Harry perfectly with her first try. “ _Her-my-oh-knee_! Like this.”

Then she reached out with both hands and lightly pinched Harry’s lips together, contorting them to try and help him form the sounds properly. He still couldn’t, so Hermione gave up and let go.

Then Harry brushed his lips against her knuckles as she tried to move away.

“He _kissed_ me!” Hermione giggled in surprise. “He kissed my fingers! Aww! Did you see, Miss Lily?”

“I did,” Lily smiled down fondly. “I think he must like you.”

“I’ll like him too, then,” Hermione announced decisively.

Just then, David and Catrin Granger entered the living room. David was carrying a tray of tea and biscuits, while Catrin had two beakers of apple juice for the children.

“Harry’s okay with juice?” Catrin checked, before passing the beaker to Harry’s eager, outstretched little hands.

“Oh yes,” Lily smiled. “James - that’s Harry’s father - and I often joke that he’ll drink apple juice until he’s eighteen - then it will be cider in his glass after that!”

David and Catrin chuckled at that.

“What does your husband do, if you don’t mind me asking?” David began as he sat down.

“He works in science,” Lily invented. “Medical research, that sort of thing.”

“And _you_ must work in something creative,” Catrin beamed. “That braid is just beautiful!”

Lily blushed slightly. “Thank you. My sister is the real artist, though. She used to give me the most intricate Celtic plaits when we were girls. But it’s easy to make something pretty when you have such _lustrous_ hair to work with, like _this_. I’m very jealous of this little one. My hair gets so thin and wiry. Hermione’s hair is just so beautiful.”

Hermione turned her cute little head up to Lily and grinned widely at her.

“Be careful, Lily,” David quirked. “It’s quite easy to become a slave to the whims of _this_ little one. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to say no to her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was some form of magic!”

Lily laughed sweetly. “Just keep her away from any magic wands then!”

“Ooh, Daddy! Can I get a magic wand?” tiny Hermione begged excitedly. “Pretty please? I promise I’ll be good. And I’ll be the bestest witch _ever_!”

“When are you ever bad?” David quizzed to his daughter.

“I can be bad sometimes,” Hermione mumbled cutely, her eyes flashing with mirth. “I stepped on a weasel once. I didn’t _mean_ to. But he was biting my shoes. So I stomped on his tail to make him go away.”

David laughed fondly. “Well, I’m sure he deserved it.”

“Can I get the wand, then?”

“We’ll see,” David smiled back. “So, Lily, you mentioned your sister? What is she doing these days?”

“Settling into life as a suburban housewife,” Lily frowned. “She married a man who owns a drill-making firm in Surrey, had a little boy with him last year, too. He’s old world money, doesn’t think she should go out to work, so it’s all dinners at the Golf Club and galas at the Marina for Tuney these days.”

David scrunched his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like the Petunia _I_ remember. She was always so spirited.”

“Things change,” Lily bemoaned. “I always thought it was just a rebellious phase, you know? Right up until her wedding day, I was convinced she’d call the whole thing off. Next thing we know she’s cutting off contact, telling us not to phone or visit. I don’t see her now.”

“That’s a shame,” Catrin offered sympathetically.

“Yes, but enough about me,” Lily chimed. “What about you? Any plans for a brother or sister for this bundle of cuteness?”

Lily gently squeezed little Hermione’s shoulders, causing her to giggle sweetly.

“We … cant have any more,” David replied sadly. “We … _lost_ one … and there were complications …”

Lily felt her face drop. “Oh … I’m so sorry. Catrin, forgive me. I should never have pried -”

“Oh, nonsense, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy,” Catrin replied with a business-like bullishness. “These things happen. The baby and I were perfectly fine one minute and then … we just weren’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. We went to see a Doctor Prewett, the finest Obstetric consultant in the country, and even he can’t explain it, that’s the most confusing thing.

“After that, my womb just packed in. No real reason. It just doesn’t work anymore. I haven’t got cancer, don’t need a hysterectomy, nothing like that. I just … might as well not have my baby-carrying bits inside. But I’ve done my crying over it. We might adopt in the future, but we have one little miracle to concentrate on first.”

“That’s me,” Hermione told Lily with a smile and a sage little nod. Lily thought she’d never met such an adorable child. She looked back to Catrin

“I … I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what else to say,” Lily offered miserably.

“Thank you,” Catrin smiled back. “But it’s fine, really, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m a Valleys girl, a daughter of coal miners and twice as tough! So, how about you? Plans for any more of your own?”

“Not right now,” Lily confessed. “This one is a handful as it is!”

Baby Harry lifted his hands wide, as if to show just how much of a handful he could be. Hermione smiled sweetly at him.

“Well,” Lily declared, sitting back and fluffing Hermione's hair in her hands. “I think we are just about done here. Just room for a little pink bow at the bottom and my work is complete!”

Lily attached the bow, patted tiny Hermione on the shoulders and let her leap up to see the results. She hurried over to the nearest mirror.

“Ooh, Mummy! Look!” Hermione sang. “It’s so _pretty!_ Look how pretty I look, Mummy.”

“You look like a little angel,” Catrin beamed fondly. “Now, what do you say to Miss Lily?”

Hermione raced over and clobbered Lily with a surprisingly firm hug.

“Thank you, Miss Lily! My hair looks so pretty! Thank you!”

“You’re most welcome, sweetheart,” Lily crooned, hugging Hermione back. Hermione broke away quickly and returned to the mirror to admire Lily’s handiwork.

“Well, shall we get to the formalities?” David asked brightly. He slid some forms over to Lily. “Just sign _here, here_ and _here_ and we’re all done.”

“Apart from my giving you _these_!” Lily smirked, sliding over the house keys as she scribbled her signature into the boxes David had indicated. “And … the place is all yours!”

“Thank you, Lily,” David beamed. “This is such a lovely house. We can’t wait to move in.”

“I hope you get as much love out of the place as I did,” Lily replied. “I’m really glad my old home is going to a, well … a _good home_! I’m really pleased you’re buying it.”

“You and my old Mum, too!” David quipped.

“Right, I suppose we’d better be making a move,” Lily announced, draining the last of her tea dregs. She stood and picked Harry up from the floor.

“Aww, are you going, Miss Lily?” Hermione asked sadly.

“Yes, it’s time for us to leave now,” Lily smiled.

“And will you come back? Will I ever see baby Harry again?” Hermione asked brightly.

“Oh, I couldn’t really tell you that,” Lily grinned with twinkling eyes. “But something tells me your paths might cross again some day.”

“I hope so,” Hermione nodded. “Maybe he’ll be able to say my name by then! Goodbye, Harry Potter. Goodbye, Miss Lily.”

“Goodbye, Hermione Jane Granger. Take care.”

And with that, Lily Potter left her childhood home for the very final time.


	6. A Steamy Encounter

Harry brushed his teeth doubly hard that night. He wanted to make sure to remove the after effects of all the beer he had drunk with Hermione’s father, which were far easier to shift from his tangy mouth than his foggy head, which was still a bit wobbly and fragile. It must have been something to do with sitting with a dentist all night, Harry reasoned, that oral hygiene had suddenly thundered to the top of his agenda.

Chuckling to himself, Harry switched off the tap and dropped his toothbrush into a little glass with a light tinkle. Then he _had_ a light tinkle, washed his hands as the toilet flushed, and marvelled that the water swirled the _wrong_ way down the plug hole on this side of the world. That was very strange.

But not nearly as strange as the sight which greeted him upon leaving the bathroom.

“Hermione? What are you doing?”

She was lounging, lithe and sylphlike on his bed. She was wearing the satin, periwinkle blue camisole nightdress Harry had bought for her in Canberra on her birthday. It was far too figure-clinging and revealing for her to model it for him, he thought.

But here she was, draped like a goddess over his bedsheets in nothing _but_ it.

Harry blinked at the newness. He’d never been jealous of _bed linen_ before. But there it was. Then he realised he couldn’t see properly, and it was nothing to do with the residue of the alcohol still swirling around in his brain. He reached for his glasses.

“Leave them off,” Hermione purred.

“But I’m practically blind without them,” Harry argued.

“You’ve seen my face enough to know what I look like,” Hermione whispered sultrily, slipping off the bed towards him.

 _It’s not your face I’m interested in right now!_ Harry thought to himself. He felt his pulse speed in his neck. He noticed how his skin was prickling with heat.

“How did you even get in here?” Harry asked through his arid throat. “I locked the door.”

“I’m a witch, Harry, I have all _sorts_ of special powers,” Hermione replied, still retaining that vampish lilt to her voice. Harry shivered as each sexy syllable kissed its way along his earlobe.

By now Hermione had reached him. Harry drew a sharp breath as her fingernails softly caressed his chest. A chest he suddenly remembered was _bare_. After all, he hadn’t been expecting company.

“Hermione!” Harry protested weakly. He tried to back away, but his legs had picked that exact moment to decide not to work anymore. “I’m only in my boxers here!”

“It’s nothing I’ve not see before,” Hermione breathed. “They’re no different to swimming shorts.”

“Fair enough, but I can please put my glasses on at least? I feel so exposed.”

“I just want you to relax, Harry. We have a long flight home in the morning and I want to make sure you’re feeling refreshed tonight. And you don’t need to see for that … just _feel_.”

“Feel?”

“Mmm-hem,” Hermione confirmed. “Come to bed.”

“Wha? _Come to bed_?”

“Oh, silly me,” Hermione giggled in an oddly girly way. “I meant come to _the_ bed.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

Hermione took Harry’s hand in her own, maddeningly soft palm, before leading him gently to the king-sized mattress at the centre of the room. She eased Harry down into the middle of the bed, then moved behind him. She sat _very_ close, with her thighs _straddling_ his own. Harry’s mind went into a frenzy, tickled by the softness of the satin nightgown on his electrified spine and the even softer brush of Hermione’s moon-cool skin against his white-hot own.

“I’m just going to give you a massage,” Hermione whispered, her warm breath on his ear causing Harry to erupt all over with spiky tingles. “I’ll start with your head, then move down to your arms, your chest, your back, legs, and finally finish at your feet. Sound good?”

“Sounds amazing,” Harry whispered back. “And when you’re done, can I do you?”

Hermione leant her head in close. Her wild hair prickled against Harry’s exposed neck. It was all he could do not angle it for better access.

“We’ll see how good a boy you’ve been to earn _that_.”

Harry swallowed as though it were his last breath.

“Alright ... _pumpkin_ ,” Hermione continued breathily, her warm air still caressessing Harry’s ear. “Are you comfortable?”

At that moment Harry struggled to define the word _comfortable_. But he knew that neither hell nor high water would drag him away from this exact spot, so he thought he’d better nod an affirmative to Hermione’s question.

“Good,” Hermione murmured lowly. “We’re going to start with a few deep breaths. I want you to fill your lungs to the count of four, hold it till seven, then release by the time you reach ten, okay? I’ll breathe with you.”

Harry felt a smooth hand snake ticklingly under his armpit and across his chest. With almost imperceptible movements, Hermione eased Harry back into her body. He bit his tongue as he felt the spongy weight of her unhindered breasts flatten against his shoulder blades.

“Okay. Breathe with me,” Hermione hushed into his cheek, for her head was resting on his shoulder now, her lips brushing lightly against his jawline as she spoke. “Breathe in, be aware of your breath, focus on it, then let it go. _Pwwww_. And relax.”

Relax? Harry felt _inert!_ Being relaxed was a _more_ stressful state than he was in. This was blissful. He felt his chest rise and fall with Hermione’s, where it was pressed flush against his back. They were in complete unison, total rhythm. It would have been impossible to tell where one finished and the other began. There were a perfect symbol of infinity in that moment.

“Okay, that’s good, Harry,” Hermione breathed. “Now we’re going to start with a head and face massage. Just relax, sit still and enjoy it.”

“Yes, Miss,” Harry replied dreamily.

Hermione's fingertips began to roll in circles on Harry’s temples. Her touch was angel-soft, and Harry was powerless to prevent a sigh of contentment from leaving his throat. Then Hermione began adjusting Harry’s eyebrows, rubbing gently between them as a sinus drainer. Harry felt like she was soothing a headache he didn’t realise he had.

The pads of Hermione’s thumbs ran up Harry’s jaw and cheekbones next. She hesitated teasingly at the corners of his mouth and the top of his chin, tantalisingly close to his lips but purposefully leaving them devoid of her touch. Harry might have felt sleepy, if it wasn’t for the fact that his body was more alive than it ever had been in his entire life.

And then … Hermione traced a finger delicately up his cheek … and ran it the entire length of the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead.

“Oh!” he gasped breathily in surprise. The Dark Magic which had caused it would ensure the scar tissue would never be fully repaired, and it was tender and sensitive still. But Harry had never had it touched like this before. He turned his head involuntarily into Hermione’s caress.

“Is that okay?” she whispered.

“It feels like healing,” he mumbled back, his eyes closed in contentment as he rubbed his head against Hermione’s fingers.

She continued to smooth the jagged line for a few moments longer, before moving up to Harry’s hair. She began to thread her fingers rhythmically through his messy locks, which were still a little bit wet from his earlier bath.

“I’m going to give this a quick brush,” she hummed to him, letting his hair flow from her wrist to fingertips in soporific cycles. Harry nodded his compliance, but he totally under her power anyway.

Hermione conjured a brush from somewhere, but before it even touched Harry’s hair, she held it close to his ear, first the left side then the right, and lightly drummed her fingernails against the wooden reverse side. The _tap, tap, click, click_ so close to his ear made Harry burst out in yet more of those wonderful tingles. They popped all over his skin, thrilling his body from his head to his toes and everywhere in between. It happened again when Hermione ran her hands slowly and deliberately against the teeth of the brush on the other side.

“What are you _doing_ to me!” Harry breathed in euphoric helplessness.

“It’s all part of the massage,” Hermione whispered back, her mouth so close to his head that Harry could have sworn her teeth grazed his earlobe. His body exploded with another wave of those shuddery, prickly sensations, so much so that Harry felt as if he was being electrified.

“Now, lie back,” Hermione encouraged, easing Harry into a face-down position on the bed.

Utterly powerless to resist, Harry went where he was guided. Then Hermione’s fingers found the old Triwizard wound on his shoulder blade.

“You have so many scars,” she winced lowly, as though hurting for him, as though his wounds were her own. “I should never have let you face that dragon.”

“Without _you_ , it would have killed me,” Harry reminded her. “I’m lucky that all I have is a scar to show for it.”

“ _Lucky_ isn’t the word I’d use,” Hermione muttered. She traced the outline of the Hungarian Horntail’s assault with that gossamer-fine touch of hers. Harry trembled as she did so. “Okay. I’m just going to do a quick assessment of your body.”

“And what are you looking for?”

“Areas of bad energy,” Hermione replied softly. “And when I find them I’m going to _pluck_ them out and _flick_ them away.”

For some reason, she delicately enunciated the clucking sound at the end of each _pluck and flick_ , inflecting them upwards as she carried out her 'assessment'. Harry felt the effect travel through his body as though Hermione had licked the length of his spine. Now what in the hell was _that_ all about?

“The only problem is we have a barrier,” Hermione purred vapidly. Then Harry felt her snap at the elastic of his boxer shorts. “These are in the way. I’m going to need to take them off.”

“Hermione!” Harry protested shrilly. “I’d be _naked_ then! You do realise that?”

“Of course, but how can I give you a full body massage while you are still covered?” Hermione asked, fairly but in the sexiest voice Harry had ever heard from her. “I need to get your gluteus maximus when I get down that low.”

“Well, it _is_ the biggest muscle in the body,” Harry accepted reasonably.

He lifted his hips slightly, and Hermione slipped his underwear clean off in one movement … almost as if she’d done it before. Hermione shifted position to lift her thigh over Harry’s body, straddling him just above his buttocks.

Then Harry felt a tangled mass of slightly moist hair scratch against the base of his spine. With a shock of understanding, Harry realised that Hermione wasn’t wearing any underwear, either.

This new knowledge sent Harry’s mind into cartwheels. He could focus on little else. Not when Hermione began gently squeezing his shoulders, not when she conjured warm oil from somewhere and began dripping it mercilessly along his overworked spine, nor even when she began running first a feather and then her own _hair_ with tantalising slowness over his searing hot flesh.

His mind was in one spot, on that warm triangle pressed firmly into his lower back.

Then Hermione leaned in low and spoke again. “Turn over, Harry.”

“I don’t think I can,” he moaned back.

“Turn over.”

“No, _seriously_ , Hermione,” Harry begged. “I _cant_! Please!”

“I know exactly what state you are in on the other side,” she purred softly. “At least, I _hope_ you are in that state, if I’ve worked you up right. I _want_ you to be like that, Harry, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. Now, turn over.”

It was a command Harry had to obey. He had no choice. In any case, his groin was so pressurised that it just _had_ to be freed before it exploded. He turned, slowly, and when that firm part of _him_ met the warm, slick part of _her_ a sensation hit Harry that he had zero concept of how to describe. He just sat back and tried to catch his mind where it was trying to escape his body.

“What is this, Hermione?” Harry pleaded. “What’s happening?”

Hermione ran her fingers over the sore remnants of Harry’s Locket Horcrux scar. He felt no pain, only more hot senselessness crash into his body. Hermione looked into his unfocused eyes.

“I love you, Harry. I’ve always loved you. For one night … let me _make love_ to you.”

And Harry gave to her with a willing sigh.

“Yes.”

So she did. She was slow and sensual, she built Harry to peaks, then eased off to let him calm down, before starting the whole process again. She pleased him in every way she knew how, showed him how to please _her_ , causing feral noises to escape her throat time and again, the type of which Harry had never even imagined she was capable of making.

 _Time._ What was that? Harry had lost any notion of what it meant or how to mark it. But all too soon Hermione was getting up from him, pulling her nightgown back on and kissing him sweetly.

"I'm just going to freshen up," she whispered, before sashaying off to the bathroom.

Harry grinned as he watched her leave. Then he began to frown, for someone was _knocking_ on the hotel door.

_Knock, Knock._

Harry tried to ignore it.

_Knock, knock._

They must have the wrong room. They'd give up soon.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Harry looked at the door in cross frustration. Who could be knocking? He was more than a little annoyed. His body had recovered sufficiently now, following his first round with Hermione, and he was cheekily hoping for a chance at an encore.

A further three knocks. Scowling deeply, Harry threw on a robe and crossed to the door.

"Yeah, what?" he demanded before he'd even fully opened it.

"Good morning to you, too! I was just seeing if you wanted to come down for breakfast. But I see your mouth is already full with joyous welcomes!"

Harry’s jaw hit the carpet, his eyes popping in shock.

“H-hermione?” he stuttered, stumbling backwards in his surprise. “How did you get there? Did you Apparate?”

“No, Harry,” Hermione quipped brightly, following him into his suite. “I walked. Are you okay? You look a little peaky. Hungover, by any chance!?”

But Harry was still just staring at her, gobsmacked. “You cant be here, Hermione.”

“Look, Harry, I know we discussed this and decided not to share a bed anymore,” Hermione replied with a gentle snigger. “But a room? I’m sure we can show _some_ restraint, cant we!?”

“No! You don’t get it,” Harry implored desperately. “You can’t be _here_ , because you should be in _there_!”

Hermione followed the line of sight to where Harry was pointing. “The bathroom? _I_ should be in _your_ bathroom? And why is that again?”

“Because you just … we just … look, I’ll show you!”

Harry grabbed Hermione by the wrist and hauled her over to the bathroom. He practically kicked open the door and looked frantically around inside. It was empty, but perfectly ordered, apart from the fact that the hot tap had been left running and had steamed up the mirror.

 _“_ Harry? What’s going on?” Hermione asked seriously. “Why do you think I should be in your bathroom?”

“Because you just walked in here, that’s why!” Harry insisted desperately. “You’ve been with me for hours and you just stepped in here to freshen up.”

“Harry - I’ve been with my Mum _all night_ ,” Hermione told him with a concerned expression.

“That’s _impossible_ ,” Harry argued hotly. “You’ve been with _me_.”

Hermione looked curiously at him. “If I just walked in here, where did I come from?”

“From my bedroom … from my _bed_ , Hermione,” Harry muttered lowly in his confusion.

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She investigated the bathroom herself. Maybe someone had Polyjuiced into her. Maybe someone who _looked_ like her had crept in. Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, after all, and he was blind as a bat without them. But the room was totally empty. Though Hermione did spot _something_ unusual.

“Harry? What’s that? What’s that on the mirror?”

Harry joined her and peered in close at the glass. “It’s writing. Someone has _written_ something in the steam on the mirror!”

Hermione bent down to see for herself. “It says … _H/Hr …_ inside a big heart! What does that mean?”

Harry gulped hard. “I think it means … _Harry … and Hermione!_ They are our initials! _”_

Hermione lost her breath in a sharp rush of air. “Harry … this person you think was in here … this other _me_ … what were you doing with her?”

Harry turned and looked sheepishly at Hermione. “Well, actually, _she_ did most of the doing,” Harry confessed shyly. “Or _you_ , because it _was_ you, Hermione. One hundred percent you.”

“And what did _I_ do?”

“You made love to me. And it was _utterly perfect_. I wouldn’t have wanted to lose it in any other way.”

“L-lose what?

“My virginity,” Harry smiled at her. “Right here, in this room … you took my virginity last night, Hermione.”


	7. The Power of Three

****_October 31_ ** ** ****_ st _ ** ** ****_, 1981. Halloween_ ** ** ****.** **

****“**** NO!! Let me go!”

“I cannot do that.”

“Release me, Dumbledore! I demand it!”

“I cannot do that, Sirius,” Dumbledore repeated.

“But Lily and James! I can help them! There might still be time -”

“You cannot help them!” Dumbledore thundered. “They’re _gone_!”

“NO!”

Sirius howled in his anguish, hot tears rose boiling behind his eyes and burned on his cheeks as they spilled out. His flesh switched to fur and back as he lost control of his Animagic. He took two fistfuls of Dumbledore’s robe and clung to him for dear life, fighting the sorrow coursing through his veins. His knees gave way and he fell, pulling Dumbledore into a graceless arc as Sirius crumpled at his feet.

“They’re gone,” the old Headmaster echoed in a far gentler tone. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“But _how?”_ Sirius sobbed. “I never gave away the Secret! I swear I never …”

“I know, and I believe you,” Dumbledore consoled in a firm manner. “But someone did. We must determine _how …_ but also _who_.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

Dumbledore drew a deep breath. “Only two did not respond to my Protean message. The Longbottoms were one, but I fear that they are _unable_ to respond. Rumour has it that Voldemort sent the Lestranges to Kent. I am concerned for Frank and Alice. If Bella has gotten her hands on them, well … you know how much your cousin likes to play with her food before she eats it. I am heading there now … hopefully I may be in time to prevent her devouring the main course.”

Sirius scowled bitterly as he stood up again. “And who was the other?”

“Only one other response did not reach me at Brompton Road,” Dumbledore began gravely. “The only person who did not reply was … _Peter_.”

Sirius blinked in heartsick shock. “ _Wormtail_? No. Impossible.”

“My message was received by all I sent it to,” Dumbledore argued softly. “Peter is the only one yet to reply. I will give him time but … I am fast losing hope.”

“Peter would never … he’s too … he wouldn’t …”

“If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however _improbable_ , must be the truth.”

“Alright, _Sherlock_ , let’s say you’re right. What can I do?”

“You must go to Godric’s Hollow, right now,” Dumbledore insisted. “I have sent Hagrid to protect the village, but he will not be able to know the exact location of the Potter’s cottage. But _you_ do. Whatever is happening, despite these changes, your Fidelius Charm remains active. You must reach Godric’s Hollow while you still remember where it is.”

“And I’m to get baby Harry?” Sirius confirmed.

Dumbledore nodded. “Not only that, but you _must_ \- and this is vitally important - you must recover a wand that will be with Harry somewhere in that house. It is made of holly and has a Phoenix feather core.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“It is a wand that came from the future,” Dumbledore replied cryptically. “It is also the brother wand of Voldemort’s own. Harry used it to kill him tonight.”

Sirius stumbled back in shock. “ _Kill him_? Dumbledore - Harry’s just a kid! A toddler! How could he have defeated the greatest Dark Wizard since Grindelwald?”

“I don’t have all the answers to that question,” Dumbledore confessed. “Know only that he _did_. Harry’s act was no coincidence tonight. James has been conditioning him for weeks to be able to cast Expelliarmus _with that wand_. There is something about Harry and that spell - particularly when used against Lord Voldemort - that makes it able redirect Avada Kedavra. It has saved his life before … in the _future_. It has saved his life tonight.”

Sirius sat down on a nearby wall and rubbed his temples. “I don’t understand _any_ of this. My head hurts. So you’re saying … Harry can survive the Killing Curse?”

“Only when cast by Tom Riddle, and only when one of them uses - or is in possession of - their brother wands.”

“And that Harry has done this before? In the future?”

“On at least two occasions. And it is that vital occurrence which would, I think, have made all the difference,” Dumbledore replied.

“The Power of Three!” Sirius exclaimed suddenly. “Three duels … in three different time periods … using the same spells and the same wands … it creates a _paradox_ between them!”

“Now who is playing at being _Mr. Holmes_?” Dumbledore smiled benignly. “I surmise that at some point in his life Harry will come face to face with Voldemort again. Indeed, I have been told that he does.”

“By that _Master of Time Hermione_ character?”

“The same,” Dumbledore nodded. “She reasoned that for Harry to survive tonight he would have to be in possession of a power that Voldemort knew nothing about - a highly personal variant of Expelliarmus. His _signature spell,_ if you like. Powered by his inherent goodness - a power that Voldemort _knows not_.”

“Ah, I think I see where you are going,” Sirius replied, pacing as he processed the idea. “And because he had _already_ twice survived Voldemort by using Expelliarmus against Avada Kedavra, on the third occasion he would actually beat him with it.”

“The Power of Three,” Dumbledore smiled. “But, curiously, his final defeat _happens_ in the future, but the special power of the spell has to begin tonight.”

“Even though it _started_ in the future, and the effects travelled _backwards_ through the space-time continuum to now, getting stronger as they did,” Sirius mused. “So that by the time the _future_ duels happen, Harry is protected by the super-charged Disarming Spell! It’s a perfect circle!”

“I had no idea so you were so versed in temporal dynamics,” Dumbledore mused. “I must confess myself impressed.”

“I live alone. I watch a _lot_ of late-night documentaries! I also love a bit of sci-fi _!_ ”

Dumbledore chuckled deeply. “As do I. The non-linear nature of time and existence has allowed this. But it is where I feel the perversion of it is happening, also.”

“Go on.”

“If we assume that all this began in the future,” Dumbledore started. “Then not only does Harry’s ability to defeat Tom Riddle come from there, but whatever changes are happening to us must also originate at some distant point. The Time Witch, Hermione, made it clear that changes were happening in _her_ world. And that a major one caused her to act … at the risk of damaging Time itself to put it right.”

“What major change?”

“Harry didn’t remember that she was his wife.”

Sirius blinked. Hard. “Harry didn’t remember the love of his life? The one he was blessed to be with? He didn’t remember that they were _married?”_

“Or that they had children, who he didn’t recognise as his own, either,” Dumbledore confirmed. “That’s what set Hermione on this path. To find out who had made changes to her life and when. She traced a strand through history. It links somehow to the Weasley family, and the girl who her Harry was convinced he was actually married to. Hermione didn’t give me any more details than that. She said that was not my part of this puzzle to solve, that she was giving that task to someone else.”

“So what’s my part in it?”

“You _must_ recover that wand,” Dumbledore insisted. “It is of paramount importance that you do. I know it is difficult, but forget baby Harry for now. Leave him with Hagrid. He’ll be safe with him. The wand must be your priority. Lily and James’ lives depend on it.”

“I … what? I don’t understand. You said they were dead.”

“They are … _for now_ ,” Dumbledore returned. “But their spirits reside in that wand. When Harry casts it against Voldemort for the final time, the circle will be complete, and they will return to help Harry finish the job, destroying the evil of Tom Riddle for good. We can only hope that the wand survives intact until that fateful duel.”

“We’ll see that it does,” Sirius announced decisively. He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and threw a leg over the huge motorcycle parked at his side. “I’ll head to Godric’s Hollow now. Where should I tell Hagrid to take Harry? Hogwarts?”

“No, he must first head to his Aunt in Privet Drive, Surrey.”

“Not _Petunia_!” Sirius cried. “Dumbledore, she _hates_ the boy, almost as much as she hated her sister. Not quite as much as she hates _herself_ \- for not having magic - but still … you cant leave Harry with her!”

“There is a protection enchantment that I must complete,” Dumbledore explained. “Lily knew all about it. It will keep Harry safe from any real harm until all this blows over. We must tidy up the world, round up the remnants of Voldemort’s followers. Harry will not be safe until we do so, and he will not be safe _with_ us as we carry out the task.”

Sirius fumed, but he saw the logic. “There will be those who might seek revenge on the boy, is that what you mean?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Or those who may see him as a replacement Dark Lord. For now, Harry will be safer _away_ from the world of magic.”

“ _Safe -_ where Petunia Dursley is concerned - may be a relative thing,” Sirius warned darkly. “I hope you know what you are doing, Albus.”

“It will all be well … I’ve written her a letter,” Dumbledore replied confidently.

Sirius remained unconvinced. “So, you are for Kent?”

“I am,” Dumbledore confirmed. “I can only hope that I reach the Longbottoms in time. I do not think I can bear to lay eyes on another child butchered by Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Then go,” Sirius urged. He kicked the engine of his motorcycle to life. “I will find the wand and deliver it to you later.”

“Good. And Sirius - if you run into Peter Pettigrew before I do, try not to kill him. He is innocent until proven guilty. Right now, all I have is a theory about him that happens to fit the facts.”

“As you wish,” Sirius grimaced. “But if you _do_ find him, hold him until I get there. Whatever his reason, that is one _rat’s tale_ that I will be very interested to hear.”

* * *

“Right. You stand guard at the gate. Let no-one pass,” Sirius demanded. “I’ll head inside and find the baby.”

“Gotcha,” Hagrid nodded.

He took up a position as an impassable barrier, between the two yew trees that flanked the garden gate to the cottage where the Potters lived. Or, as Sirius considered miserably, where they had _died_. He wiped angrily at a fresh surge of tears as he left Hagrid behind and made his way towards the shattered house. He stopped before crossing the threshold. He didn’t think he could do this.

James and Lily would still be inside … dead. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see that. To finally accept it.

He fell to his knees, weeping freely now. His fingernails became claws and he scratched bitterly at his own skin. He had to feel _something_ that wasn’t this abject wretchedness, this impossible pain. He couldn’t process it. James and Lily, dead. Just gone like that. His best friend, and the wife that Sirius had come to view almost as a sister.

He wasn’t sure he knew how to go on in life without them.

But he knew that he must. There was a child inside and he was in danger. A child that would change the future, that would end this darkness for good, and meet the girl who would help him put all this right.

Sirius took a raspy, steeling breath and looked up at the full moon overhead.

“Get up,” he commanded himself, his voice shuddering in grief-stricken determination. “Harry needs you. So man the hell up.”

Sirius rose from the ground, drew his wand and stepped forward firmly. The house was ruined, that was the most stark realisation. James must have put up one hell of a fight. Sirius ground his jaw in bitter admiration of his lost friend.

“I hope you put the _shits_ up him, James!” Sirius spoke out powerfully. “Snake-bothering old bastard!”

Sirius picked his way across the debris-strewn living room, the broken kitchen and the dining room, which looked oddly intact. It was in breathtaking contrast to the destruction elsewhere.

“They cant have made their way in here,” Sirius mused, looking around with a frown.

And then he realised … _where was the body?_

The battle looked to have been confined to the kitchen and the living room, but as he reached the foot of the stairs - which were as neat and ordered as if they hadn’t been used that day - Sirius realised that James’ body was missing. That angered and confused him in equal measure.

The answers must have been upstairs, so Sirius padded slowly up the carpeted steps and headed towards the nursery at the far end of the landing. Slowly, with nervous movements, he pushed open the door…

And he lost his breath at the sight.

For the bodies of James and Lily were there, laid out side by side as if they were sleeping on the floor. Someone had even closed their eyes for them. Voldemort’s body was there, too, kicked roughly against a wall and away from the cot beneath the window.

A cot that had a figure standing over it.

 _“Stupef -”_ Sirius tried to cry, but before he’d even finished the spell he was hit with a Shield Charm so powerful it pushed him back into the hallway and pinned him against the wall there.

“I’ll let you go in three seconds,” a cool female voice told him. “But if you raise your wand again I will have to Disarm you. And if you wake baby Harry I will get _very_ cross with you, Sirius.”

Sirius blinked in shock. “You know my name?”

“No, that was just a wild guess!” came the sassy reply.

Sirius couldn’t help but smirk. He was still pinned back, but he didn’t feel in any danger now. “You have me at a disadvantage, in more ways than one. Can you at least give the name of the witch who has finally managed to _tie me down_?”

The witch tutted good-naturedly. “You are an arrogant scallywag in _any_ time period, aren’t you? Very well, my name is Hermione … Hermione Potter.”

Sirius sucked in a stunned breath? “You? You’re _the_ Hermione? You’re the Time Witch?”

Hermione turned to him with a curious expression. “Time Witch? Hmm. I sort of like that. But I’m just a gifted witch with an affinity to Time Magic, really. I don’t need a title for it. I’m not like _him_.”

And with that she spat angrily at the corpse of Tom Riddle, where it was contorted at awkward angles against the wall.

“Can you tell me what you are doing here … _tonight_ , of all nights?” Sirius asked.

Hermione gave him a simple, old-fashioned sort of look. “Someone had to come and look after my _future husband_ until you arrived. He’s just a baby, you know.”

“Then you knew I was coming?”

Hermione sighed patiently. “If we start down the road of ‘ _what I know’_ we’ll be here for eons. Oh, forgive me.”

And with that she released Sirius from her Shield Charm. He straightened out his robes and joined Hermione at Harry’s crib.

“How is he?” Sirius asked, looking down at the baby.

“Unharmed, apart from his scar,” Hermione replied, smoothing the lightening-shaped cut on baby Harry’s forehead. “I’ve cleaned it out as best I could, but it needs time to seal on its own. And he needs a feed. I was going to do it myself but … that would be a bit _weird_.”

“Weird?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “Breastfeeding my own husband? That’s fraught with all sorts of psychological trauma, don’t you think!?”

Sirius chuckled as he understood. “I see what you mean. And the kitchen was wrecked. If there was any baby food there it’s gone up in flames.”

“Precisely. Speaking of flames, I have a job for you,” Hermione replied. She crossed to Voldemort’s corpse, giving it a good kick just because she felt like it. “When I’m gone, you need to burn this. Scatter the ashes as far and wide as you can. Vary the locations, tell no-one where you do it. If I get back to my time and find there’s a shrine anywhere, you and I will have a _serious_ falling out!”

“Why do I get the impression that I don’t want that!” Sirius chortled.

“Now you’re getting the idea,” Hermione smirked back.

“I can see why Harry married you,” Sirius chuckled. “If he grows up anything like James, you’d be just what he liked. You’re so much like Lily it’s unreal.”

Hermione smiled warmly at him. “I consider that to be a compliment of the highest order, by the way. Maybe you aren’t so hopeless after all!”

They laughed together a moment, then Sirius turned to look at the bodies of James and Lily.

“Your doing?”

Hermione nodded. “It’ll be easier to transport them like that.”

“Transport?” Sirius queried. “Are you taking them somewhere?”

“Not so much somewhere … but _somewhen,”_ Hermione replied confusingly. “I have to take their bodies into a sort of temporal flux. They will exist outside of time and space as you might understand it. It is where they will stay until Harry brings them back out in the future.”

“I didn’t understand a single word of that,” Sirius moaned.

“I know,” Hermione smiled sadly. “But you will … when _you_ go to that place.”

Sirius swallowed deeply. “Me? I’m going to go there?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied simply. “I’m telling you this only so that you wont be afraid when it happens. The one thing Harry always fretted about was how scary it was for you … when you died for him. This way, he’ll know you weren’t frightened when it happened.”

“I … I died for him,” Sirius breathed, his heart pinging against his throat. “When? How?”

“I cant tell you that,” Hermione shot him down. “In case you try to contrive it at the wrong time. Just know that at some point, quite a way in the future, Harry will be in dire need of rescue. You will go to give aid, and in a battle with Dark Forces, you will be killed. You will fall through a unique archway and it will take you into the realm that I will soon take Lily and James.”

“Will they be there? In this weird dimension?”

“Yes, waiting for you,” Hermione smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Sirius. It wont hurt, and Harry will bring you back shortly after he revives his parents. We will all see each other again … so long as Harry fulfils his destiny with _this_.”

Hermione reached into her robes, and handed over the gleaming Holly and Phoenix feather wand. Sirius took it covetously.

“Harry was still holding this when I arrived,” Hermione told Sirius, before smiling fondly at the slumbering infant as he babbled in his dreams. “You must make sure Dumbledore gets it now. He’ll give it to Ollivander at the right time and make sure the cycle continues.”

“You mentioned cycles - and that my death had to happen _at the right time_?” Sirius quizzed. “What does that mean? What if something happens to me before that?”

“Try to make sure it doesn’t!” Hermione quipped. “Try and keep yourself alive until then! Did Dumbledore show you his Time-Turner?”

“Yes he did.”

“And did he tell you how they were first invented? Or by whom?”

“Alchemists, he mentioned alchemists,” Sirius remembered.

“The fundamental Masters of Time,” Hermione nodded. “They are manipulators of it. Altering natural processes of refinement to achieve perfected states, things that nature would take an incredibly longer period to do. But true alchemists are not concerned with the physical … their Work is all _spiritual_. Alchemy is an arcane art at its core. Gold, elixirs, Philosopher’s Stones … all by-products for the base and limited.

“ _True_ alchemy transforms the _soul_ … and a true alchemist never works _alone_.”

“Ah, I think I get it!” Sirius exclaimed. “ _You_ are an alchemist … or _you and Harry_ are!”

“Precisely,” Hermione smiled. “I Mastered Time when Dumbledore gave me his Time-Turner, Harry Mastered physical alchemy when he earned the Philosopher’s Stone. Then we embarked on a life-long journey of Love and Enlightenment together to complete the upper, spiritual Work.

“And we are far from done. Which is why I am so cross and furious with whoever it is that is _fucking_ with my life! Forgive me, I don’t swear that often. But I am _very_ cross, Sirius! Very cross, indeed!”

Sirius wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. “So, my _death_ is part of this process?”

“Yes, it marks a transition from the beginning _Black Stage_ , what we call the _Nigredo_ ,” Hermione explained. “You are the quintessential _Black Death,_ Mr Black! Harry will complete the _Albedo -_ or White Stage - when Dumbledore dies. Then the _Rubedo_ , Red Stage, will be reached when our friend, Ron, sacrifices himself to allow us to go on alone and finish the Opus. Win the game, just like in _chess_. Soul and spirit, leaving the body behind. As it must be for us all.”

Sirius listened to the solemn words. He looked at baby Harry, full up with love for his Godson, and accepted his fate on the spot. He loved nothing else in the world now, besides that child. If he had to die to protect him then so be it.

“So I just have to stay alive until the right moment,” Sirius nodded. “Any advice on that?”

“Go and find that rat Pettigrew and make it look like you slaughtered him,” Hermione scythed bluntly. “Make it dramatic. Let them sling you in Azkaban for a stretch. Your Animagus form will keep you safe from the Dementors and you’ll stay alive.”

“Sounds a jolly holiday, that one, Hermione!” Sirius laughed. “Cant I just jet off to the Bahamas for a bit?”

“That’s up to you,” Hermione frowned sternly. “But if you decide to let one of Voldemort’s unmasked minions run around freely and pose a threat to Harry for the next ten years, then you and I will -”

“Have a serious falling out, and I don’t want that,” Sirius sniggered lightly. “Got you. But why cant I _actually_ murder Peter? I very much want to, you know, if he is behind this betrayal of my best friend.”

“Because, he somehow makes his way into the hands of a woman that I loathe, one I suspect is behind the changes in my life,” Hermione explained. “And she gives him to one of her children as a _pet_. I haven’t found out about that bit yet, but I feel certain it’s important. They protected a Death Eater for years and years. I have to know the reasons why.”

“Then Peter did turn on us?” Sirius mused. “But how did he give away the secret of this place? _I_ am the Secret Keeper.”

“You were,” Hermione agreed. “But at some point James and Lily changed it to Peter. Remember, for _me_ , this has all happened before. In my timeline, James and Lily sacrificed themselves deliberately, to save the other children that Voldemort was targeting, knowing that he’d come for Harry eventually and that _they’d_ come back in the future to help defeat him for good. I had no idea of my own role in it till Lily explained it all, years after they returned.”

“How do you keep your head on straight thinking about this?” Sirius quirked. “I’m dizzy just listening to you.”

“I have a remarkable mind!” Hermione grinned cheekily. “Harry says it’s his favourite thing about me. That’s explanation enough!”

“So, what will you do now, to get him back?” Sirius asked. “Dumbledore told me what happened to you in the future.”

“I have to find the source of the disruption and eliminate it, but it’s taking time,” Hermione explained. “Luckily, _time_ is something I have plenty of. I just have to be careful where I go and what I do. But I have to make sure there are some anchors in the timeline that remain the same, things that cant be changed. I went to see an older Harry recently just for that purpose.”

“To do what?”

“I cant tell you that,” Hermione smirked. “So don’t ask again.”

Hermione pulled out a pocket watch from her robes. It was a curious timepiece, for instead of hands and numbers, little rotating planets were spinning around the edge.

“It’s time to leave,” Hermione announced briskly.

She drew her wand and cast a spell in a language Sirius didn’t recognise. Instantly, a split opened up in the fabric of the very air itself. It was blindingly bright. Sirius had to shield his eyes against it. He peeked through his fingers long enough to see Hermione float the bodies of James and Lily through the vortex to … _wherever it was_ … that she was taking them.

Then Hermione crossed to Sirius. She leant close and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Sirius, Until we meet again. When we do, don’t make out that we’ve met before. You might not remember me, anyway, if I fail in my mission. Oh, and don’t forget to dispose of Riddle’s corpse.”

“Is there nothing else I can do? I feel so useless.”

Hermione grinned at him. “You can always try and get me and Harry together sooner! You did try to pair us off, sort of, but maybe convince him to ask me to the Yule Ball we have in our Fourth Year at Hogwarts or something. I was _dying_ for him to ask me, and I so wanted a snog with him that night. He looked so dishy! But he didn’t ask his Godfather for any sage advice on the matter, so I was left very cross with him!”

“And - let me guess - I didn’t like you cross?!” Sirius laughed.

“Something like that,” Hermione smirked. “Goodbye, Sirius. Farewell.”

And with that, Hermione Potter gave a small wave and disappeared into the ether.


	8. Grindelwald's Promise

****

* * *

**A/N:** Hey folks, another instalment of this mind-bender coming at you. It might make everything clearer, but then again, it might not. I'm enjoying taxing your brains, and if you'd rather not bring your brain to _Bring Your Brain To Read Day,_ then meh, there is plenty of choice out there for you. Well done to all those readers who have dug up the clues, eaten the breadcrumbs and been entertained by trying to figure it all out. It'll make sense in the end, I promise you that. Plus it's a fun way to spend lockdown, don't you think?

On a personal note, I hope anyone celebrating anything over the next month has a great time whatever it is. I'm hoping to shift just another 12 copies of my original novel before December 25th and make it a nice round ONE HUNDRED sold since publication in June, which I'm very proud of as I had to do it all on my own. I'd have a very happy Christmas with that. It would be a truly satisfying way to round off this bizarre and troubled year.

Anyhoo, enough with the guff. Wrap your seeing organs around _these_ words! Cheers, **Th3Alchemist.**

* * *

Hermione was in the back garden of her parent’s Abingdon home, watching the colourful barges pass along the canal on their way to the horse fair in Oxford, when the doorbell chimed unexpectedly. In truth, she was fetching top-up drinks for them all so they could cool down in the warm Summer weather. It was past two o’clock now and more than socially acceptable to have a small glass of chilled white wine with the selection of bread and cheeses that they were nibbling at on their sunny verandah.

So the doorbell came as a rather unwelcome distraction. That was until Hermione actually answered it.

“Harry!”

It was an exclamation. She couldn’t help it. The events of their last day in Australia had made things unreasonably awkward between them. Hermione simply couldn’t understand or accept that an alternative version of herself had slept with Harry, and he confessed that he could now think about little else. What that meant, and where it might lead, left them at an impasse that neither knew how to get beyond.

But it seemed now, after barely two weeks apart, that Harry had cracked first.

For not only had he brought himself, but he was also pulling his heavy Hogwarts trunk behind him. It contained, Hermione knew with a heavy heart, all of Harry’s earthly possessions. Her heart flipped crazily at the idea, for if Harry ever offered himself to her completely, this might be what it looked like.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, breaking from the hug she’d clobbered him with on sight.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay away,” Harry muttered lowly, toeing the gravel path with his battered shoe. “And I couldn’t stay _there,_ either. I’m sorry … I had nowhere else to go.”

Hermione knew that the _there_ in this case meant The Burrow. She, herself, had been giving the place and its family a wide berth, but Harry had been left with no choice but to return there. Now, it seemed, he’d had his fill.

“I wont be a burden,” Harry promised. “It’ll just be for a night. Maybe two. Your Dad mentioned he had a potting shed … that’d do just fine. If I could just -”

“If you honestly think I’m heartless enough to simply let you sleep in my garden shed when I have soft pillows going spare, then I’m going to be very cross with you, Harry,” Hermione quipped semi-sternly. “What sort of best friend do you take me for? We have an attic room that my Aunts often use when they stay. You’re welcome to use that for as long as you like.”

“No, I … I don’t want to intrude,” Harry argued sheepishly.

“You _intruded_ when you saved my life from a twelve-foot-troll,” Hermione smiled warmly. “Now, come on in and tell me what this is all about.”

“I couldn’t stay there, with the Weasleys,” Harry explained as they mounted the stairs. “It felt odd. And not just because of … you-know-what.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in spite of herself. She still couldn’t picture Harry’s description of what had happened to him on that last night in Sydney … or the rabid jealousy that it hadn’t been _her_ that he’d shared that experience with. Although he insisted that it _was_ , or at least as far as _he_ was concerned it was, however confusing this all sounded to her.

“Why? What was wrong?”

“I could feel things … _changing_ ,” Harry tried to explain. “Changing back to how they were before we went away. And not because I wanted them to … they just _were_. I cant explain it. But I _hated_ it. I wanted to … I wanted …”

“What?” Hermione pushed gently.

“I wanted to feel like I did back in Australia, when it was just us,” Harry confessed. “And not just on that _last night_. But before then. I missed it … that feeling I felt when I was with you ... and _just you._ I missed the intimacy, I missed the emotion … I missed you. And I’m scared, Hermione.”

Hermione had forgotten how to breathe a moment, but she jerked back to herself at Harry’s declaration of fear. It was so heart-felt and genuine that Hermione felt her own heart bleed just from hearing it.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that … someone’s trying to _take it away,”_ Harry confessed in a tiny voice. “That feeling. And I don’t want them to, Hermione. I don’t want to lose it. It terrifies me that I might. I like feeling this … _whatever_ it is for you. I know my timing is atrocious, but I know now that this is what I want to feel. It doesn’t even matter that you don’t like me back like that. Will you help me, Hermione? Help me to stop whoever is doing this? Please?”

“Firstly, who said that I don’t like you back like that? I never said that,” Hermione smiled gently. Harry could barely believe his ears, and language was beyond him now, so he just listened. “Did I - or did I not - travel back in time just to make love to you?”

Harry reddened so adorably that it took all of Hermione’s restraint not to pounce on him right there. But she held firm.

“You did,” Harry choked out. “And it was all sorts of gorgeous. But why have you suddenly accepted that?”

“Because of something my mum said,” Hermione confessed. “ _She_ spoke to another version of me, too, one who came from the future, to say that someone was attacking her life … or _mine_ … in that time. Oh dear, this is so confusing.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry agreed, scratching his head. “How were they attacking your life?”

“She didn’t say explicitly,” Hermione replied. “But it has something to do with the first time we met. Apparently, it wasn’t as we remember it. Do you still think it was that first day on the Hogwarts Express?”

“Yeah, you came into my compartment as you tried to help Neville find his toad,” Harry described. “That was the first time we met.”

“Apparently _not_ ,” Hermione told him, sitting down on the bed. “My mum had forgotten about it, too, but then this other me reminded her. That was important, apparently, because it showed that whatever Dark Magic was at work stretched only to me - and _her_ \- and not our family. But that didn’t make sense to the other Hermione for some reason, so she went away to try and figure it all out. Or I had to. This is making my head spin.

“Describe this thing you felt, Harry, when you were at The Burrow. Let’s start with that.”

“It’s not easy to,” Harry began, sitting next to Hermione on the bed. “I came back from Australia determined to finish it all with Ginny. We never really _re-started_ , but I sort of told her to give me time to get over everything that had happened and that I’d talk to her again after that. She took that as promise enough.”

“But something happened when you saw her? You didn’t break it off?”

“Not so much that I didn't … it was as much that I _couldn’t,”_ Harry moaned. “It was like the words were there, but I’d forgotten how to say them. Ginny gave me a hug, even flashed me in just her bra from the top of the stairs, and then I noticed it going.”

“What? This feeling for … for _me_?”

Harry nodded glumly. “I remembered … _seeing you_. Or, you know, the _other_ you. I remembered how you felt, your skin, your weight, the scent of you … how you … _tasted._ But the details were slipping away like moments from a dream. And I didn’t want to forget, Hermione. It was all I’d thought about since it happened.

“So I fought hard to cling on. But it was like the seal had broken. The details kept vanishing. Now I cant even remember what you were wearing when I first saw you … only that it took my breath away. And I’m _gutted_ to have lost that memory, Hermione.”

“Why? It was just _me_ … of a fashion.”

“Yeah … but not like _that_ ,” Harry replied, the hint of a cheeky smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I cant remember it … but it was like looking at something divine. Would _you_ want to forget something like that?”

Hermione shifted an inch closer to Harry so that their thighs were touching. Then she smiled sweetly at him.

“No, and once we solve this, maybe we can create a store bank of those images _together_. Lets see Ginny and her Dark Magic stop us then.”

“Ginny … who is that?”

Harry and Hermione snapped their heads to the far corner of the attic. It was completely in shadow, despite being just to the right of a sunny skylight.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder,” the female speaker explained to the stunned expressions facing her. “Useful for not being _seen_. Now tell me who Ginny is? I’ve heard the name a few times, but I don’t know who it belongs to.”

“Hermione!” Harry hissed under his breath. “That’s _you_! The _other_ you!”

Hermione frowned at him. “I worked that one out myself, Harry. I know my own voice when I hear it. The question is … what do I want?”

So she asked herself out loud.

“I am trying to find the root of a problem,” the future Hermione explained. “And this ‘Ginny’ character keeps popping up. So I need to know who she is. Hello, Harry … again.”

“Um … hi,” Harry replied sheepishly. He felt the need to cover his crotch for some reason, despite being fully clothed. The Hermione next to him scowled jealously.

“Ginny is our friend’s sister,” she explained. “She's fancied Harry something chronic since she was a girl.”

“What else can you tell me about her? Significant events in her life, that sort of thing.”

“Well, the most interesting thing to happen to her - apart from somehow coaxing Harry into fancying her last year - was that she was possessed by the spirit of Lord Voldemort during our second year at Hogwarts. She plays Quidditch a bit, she has an affinity for bats with sinus issues, and she’s a smart-mouthed little tart. We also call her _ASDA -_ because her legs are open twenty-four hours _!_ Am I missing anything, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “She writes terrible Valentines Poems! She thinks that telling someone their eyes are like a 'freshly pickled toad' is a _compliment._ ”

“Does she also think your hair is as dark as a blackboard?” future Hermione quirked.

“You’ve heard it?” Harry laughed back.

“I have,” Hermione confirmed. “But how curious.”

“I’m sorry, er … _me_ ,” Hermione began. “But what’s curious?”

“Just call me Hermione, _Hermione,_ or we will end up going around in circles.”

“Aren’t we doing just that!” Hermione cried shrilly. “First rule of time-travel is that you must not be seen, especially by yourself. But here we are _talking!_ ”

“But _can_ you see me?”

“Well, no … but I’m not really sure this counts.”

“Well I wont tell if you won’t,” future Hermione laughed. “Or _maybe_ I’ll just talk to Harry instead.”

There was something sultry in her tone that - if Harry had heard it from another girl - might be construed as a _taunt_. The Hermione sat next to him certainly took it as one.

“No, you’ll talk to _me_ ,” she spat possessively, shunting so close to Harry on the bed that her thigh was practically atop his. That took his thoughts - and his bloodstream - in a southerly direction at warp speed. “What was curious about the poem? You said you had heard it before?”

“I have,” came the reply. “Only it wasn’t from a girl called Ginny … but from a _boy_ called _St.John_ … St.John Weasley. He was Ron Weasley’s younger _brother_.”

“ _What!”_ Harry and his Hermione chimed together.

“We used to call him ‘Ginger Sinjie’, or 'Ginger Johnnie',” future Hermione went on. “Fred and George started the nickname to annoy him, obviously, but it sort of stuck. He was somehow _ginger-er_ than the rest of the clan. And he was just _obsessed_ with Harry, pretty much from the get-go. It was hero worship at first, but it developed into quite a dangerous infatuation as the years went on.

“This is _fascinating._ I think I see what she’s done now, or is trying to do … the question is _how_?”

“What who has done?” Harry asked. “Ginny?”

“No … _Molly,”_ Hermione corrected.

“Mrs Weasley?” Harry choked out. “But why would she do … _whatever_ it is that she’s done?”

“Because … Molly Weasley _hates_ me … and I hate her right back,” Hermione scythed. Oddly, Harry swore he saw the Hermione next to him nod in slow agreement.

“But why?”

“Because she’s an arrogant cunt, the worst witch I’ve ever met,” future Hermione explained acridly. “She had her first baby when she was still at Hogwarts, you know. Bill was born when she was just fourteen, conceived on one of Molly and Arthur’s Hogsmeade visits. If the Arthur Weasley you know is anything like mine, then you know he’s no ladies’ man. He just couldn’t keep control of his excitement on their first time. And then Molly forgot the incantation for the Contraceptive Charm.

“She told us this as a _funny_ story when we were staying at Grimmauld Place over Christmas of our fifth year. Arthur had just been attacked by Voldemort’s snake, Nagini, and everyone was swapping stories, as you do. But I couldn’t help it … I _gasped_ in shock when Molly told that one with a smile on her face. I know how terribly judgemental it must have sounded … and Molly never forgave me for it.

“And I’d never forgiven _her_ for sending me Bubotuber Pus in a letter, after stories came out that I was cheating on my Harry with Viktor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “So those events happened exactly the same for you as they did for us, then?”

“ _Almost_ exactly,” Hermione replied. There was the hint of a smile in her voice. “The main difference was that there _was_ something going on between my Harry and me. We were skirting around it in the most silly of ways, but Rita Skeeter’s articles made us do something that I’ve come to learn that you two _didn’t_.”

“What was that?” Harry’s Hermione asked.

“We looked it in the face … actually _discussed_ it,” the other Hermione replied fondly. “It was painfully formal, and we laughed crazily about it in the years that followed, but you know what we’re like, Hermione. I basically _interrogated_ my Harry about his feelings for me. The poor lamb didn’t know what hit him!”

“How did that happen?” Hermione asked. It sounded as if she was desperate to know what she’d done wrong in her version of the events.

“After the Second Task, it was clear that something was different between us,” came the explanation. “Because _I_ was the hostage taken into the Lake for Harry to rescue. I was the thing that he’d _miss the most_. Apparently, I was Krum’s, too, but Harry would have missed me so much _more_ … so I was his.

“So, practically as soon as I was dry, I dragged Harry for one of our epic walks around the Lake for him to explain it to me. He did a _terrible -_ but adorably cute - job, spluttering and stuttering his way through his answers to my examination, but he managed to tell me how he’d liked me as more than a friend for the best part of a year, and that it was getting stronger all the time, and that his image of me coming into the Common Room as his date for the Yule Ball was the memory he now used to conjure a Patronus.

“I practically _melted_ when he told me that. So we agreed to go to the next Hogsmeade weekend alone, without Ron for the first time, and see how it went. As it happened, it went _very well_ , so we took it slow from there.”

“So you … we … started _going out_?” Harry breathed reverently. It was as though he’d suddenly come up with a brilliant new idea, the best one the world had ever seen, and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought of it before.

“Not right away, not even that school year, really,” Hermione confessed. “But we were essentially inseparable after that first Hogsmeade date. And then all that drama happened with Cedric and Voldemort returning in the graveyard. My Harry was so wounded … I was heartbroken just being at his bedside. The effects of the Cruciatus Curse gave him severe PTSD, and lingered with him all Summer. I visited him weekly, wrote to him practically every other day. Poor Hedwig didn’t forgive me for all the extra flying for at least six months after that!

“At first, the letters were what you’d expect - general correspondence and notes of concern. But they began to change as our feelings sharpened focus. We’d almost lost each other, before whatever it was that we’d started had even really got going. And we both knew how much we’d have regretted not giving into it fully. So we started to, in what we were writing in our letters.

“By the time we were ready to board the Hogwarts Express again in September, we weren’t just writing to keep in touch … we were pretty much sending _love letters_ to each other.”

Harry and _both_ Hermiones felt lumps rise in their throats, as the words hung softly in the air between them. Then Harry looked down, for his Hermione had tracked her fingers up over his hand and was now holding it tenderly, and seemed completely unashamed for doing so, too. Harry just enjoyed the warmth of her touch, allowed himself to feel it in ways he never had before.

“Meeting up again was awkward at first, after all the intimate things we’d said to each other via Hedwig,” future Hermione went on. “But by the end of that first train journey, we’d gotten ourselves sorted. We brought Ron in on what we’d decided … on what we’d _become_. He was disappointed, as he had started to fancy me, too. Seriously, I never expected _three_ boys in the space of six months would want to date me!

“But I only wanted Harry, and Ron knew that. He accepted it begrudgingly, was over it by Halloween and started seeing Hannah Abbott, but it fizzled out by Christmas.”

“But you … I mean, _we_ … didn’t? Fizzle out, I mean,” Harry asked quietly.

“No, Harry. We _never_ fizzled out. We just got stronger and stronger. If anything, fighting Voldemort and all that drew us closer. No-one had shared what we had, could ever replace you in my heart, and I knew it was the same for you. We defeated Voldemort, left Hogwarts, got engaged on my twentieth birthday and married at twenty-five, ten years to the day that we’d first swapped those fateful ‘ _I love yous_ ’ with each other.

“Oddly, it was _you_ who remembered that fact, who thought it would be terribly romantic to say ‘ _I do’_ to me, on the same date as you’d first told me you were in love with me. It was all very sweet. But that’s when things started to change. And I’m only just starting to see how Molly Weasley is behind the whole lot of it.”

“How so?”

“We didn’t let her come to the wedding,” Hermione explained. “We, sort of, had to put a Restraining Charm up against St. John and Molly _kicked off_ about it. His obsession had become dangerous. He’d turned up at our daughter’s school and threatened to kidnap her if Harry didn’t marry _him_ instead of me. He even began the process for a full gender-swap operation, after Harry refused his numerous approaches for a date, thinking maybe he’d have more luck as a girl.

“But it didn’t matter about gender or sexuality. Harry loved _me_ , and that was the one thing that nothing and nobody could change. And Molly _hated_ that about me. She tried so hard to prise Harry away from me. She’d send invitations to Weasley parties addressed just to Harry, leaving me out. She’d contrive elaborate ways for Harry and St. John to be alone together, things like that.

“In the end, Harry had a blazing row with them both and vowed never to speak to either again. Molly desperately wanted Harry to marry her child ... she was determined to have him as a son-in-law. I just never imagined she'd go this far.”

“So, you think that because we’ve been in Harry’s life for everything important, and bonded so deeply as a result, that Molly is somehow trying to remove us from it now? Maybe put Ginny in _our place_?” Harry’s Hermione asked in quiet horror. “Starting with the first time we met? Mum told me about your meeting with her.”

“That’s my working theory, but I don’t know how far her action goes or even how she’s doing it,” came the reply. “But I have to believe that replacing her youngest son with a _daughter_ has to be part of it somehow. She might be trying to place this Ginny as a rival to me from the very start, maybe including love potions or other forms of Entrancement magic. I know she’s got previous with that.”

“You do? With who?” Harry asked.

“Sirius,” Hermione volleyed back bluntly. “She was obsessed with him when they were at Hogwarts, despite the age gap. She had him under a spell for at least six months when he was thirteen or so. Ever wondered why they were so cool towards each other every time they met? There’s your answer. Sirius feels violated by it, as would I.”

“You … you sound like you _know_ Sirius,” Harry began quietly. “More than I would expect you to.”

“That’s because I do,” Hermione replied. “Harry - in my timeline, we _brought Sirius back_ … right after we revived your parents. They showed us how to open a portal at the _back_ of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius fell right out, as if the fight there had just finished, just with four more years of memories from his time in the afterlife.”

Harry gripped Hermione’s hand as the concept crashed into him. “We did … _what_? How?”

“There was an incredibly complex piece of magic performed when you were a baby, that allowed you to survive Voldemort’s attack. It was supposed to trigger a chain of events that would bring your parents back to life when you duelled Voldemort for the final time during the Battle of Hogwarts. James and Lily’s souls reside within your wand, Harry. And when you cast Expelliarmus against Voldemort with it, they were supposed to emerge and kill him, while he was held defenceless in Priory Incantatem by _you_. But, and I don’t know why, that hasn’t happened, has it?”

“No,” Harry whined sadly. Then he sat bolt upright. “But … I didn’t use _my_ wand against Voldemort. I used Draco Malfoy’s! Mine was broken!”

“Ahh!” Hermione breathed in something like triumph. “That may be the key, Harry! You haven’t _completed_ the circle yet!”

“The question is … _can he_?” younger Hermione asked. “I mean, this timeline doesn’t seem completely right either, judging by what you’ve said.”

“Go on.”

“Well, look at it,” Hermione continued. “For seven years - as far as we’ve both been aware - Harry and I haven’t ever seriously considered getting together romantically. Then we pop off to Australia for a month and - and I think I can speak for Harry here, too - suddenly it’s all we can do to keep our hands off each other. It’s like a dam has broken - as though what we _both_ truly want has abruptly burst into the open.”

“True,” Harry nodded with a grin.

“And this timeline you describe,” Hermione went on, addressing her future self. “That sounds like the most beautiful dream I could ever have. I _hate_ that I didn’t live that myself! But maybe we weren’t allowed to. Harry says a fortnight with the Weasleys is making him forget what we shared in Australia, as though somehow our affections are being denied to us. Could that have been happening to us _forever?_ Could Molly have done something to purposely keep us apart?”

“That’s the theory I’m running with,” came the reply. “I just need to know how far it goes. I’ve been travelling through time, nailing down anchors in our timeline. You both need to understand something … as soon as we saved, then flew, on Buckbeak we joined our hearts together in the most profound of ways. The universe _ordained_ us that night … made us _meant to be_. I’m pinning my hopes on that … that no matter what Molly or Dark Magic tries to do, our love will prevail above all of it.”

“What anchors?” Harry asked.

“Key events in our relationship,” Hermione explained. “I went to watch over you after Lily and James were killed so you’d be safe, I _told_ Dumbledore about the time paradox, so he would tell James so he could prepare you. I gave him your phoenix wand. Then I went see you in Sydney … relived our _first time_ pretty much as it happened for me. And don’t worry, Harry … you get better and last longer as time goes on, trust me!”

The Hermione, at Harry’s side, couldn’t help but giggle at that, as she curled her head onto his shoulder in a consolatory sort of way. But he did his best to ignore all of his own inexperienced failings for now. For he felt a sheer rush of affection for Hermione, for both of them, for the entity that was Hermione Granger in that moment. She was the girl that had cared for him and watched over him so diligently for pretty much his entire life.

And if what he was feeling for her now _wasn't_ love he was pretty such nothing else ever would be.

“Tell me,” Harry asked to the future version. “Can you feel this?”

Then he turned bodily and drew his Hermione to him, holding her tenderly tight, closing his eyes at her touch.

The older witch swooned from the corner. “I can feel it! Almost like a sweet memory. It shows we are still connected ... that you, Hermione, can still go on to become me. But this is Time Magic … and who knows when that might change.”

“It also sounds like Dark Magic,” Harry replied bitterly, letting Hermione go with painful reluctance. “Do you have any idea what Molly might have done?”

“Just one, and it’s oh so vague,” Hermione replied.

“Try us,” Harry urged.

“Okay, the only link I can find is St. John’s possession by the diary Horcrux,” Hermione explained. “He was never purged of it and I’m sure there must have been some lingering effects. It may have accounted for portions of his madness in later years. Not only that, but Peter Pettigrew lived in that family for ten years, then a year _after_ the possession. Being so close to St. John - with Voldemort in his mind - _must_ have triggered something, maybe even caused his Mark to burn.

“And Molly would do anything for her kids, I have to give her that. But I also knew she was desperate for a daughter, and determined to break the Curse.”

“Curse? What curse?”

“The Weasley Curse to deny them daughters,” Hermione explained. "D-don’t you know about that?”

“No,” Harry returned worryingly. “We knew that Ginny was unusual - the seventh child of a seventh child, because Molly was the youngest of seven children herself, but we heard nothing about a Curse. What was it?”

“Grindelwald promised them a daughter who would lead a Pureblood revolution in Britain, in return for support on his campaign across Europe,” Hermione explained. “When he was defeated, the Weasleys were among a number of families who were cursed to never have daughters, so that Grindelwald’s Promise could never be fulfilled. That … that _must_ be what Molly is doing! Trying to break that curse.”

“Or … trying to prevent it ever being cast in the first place!” the other Hermione breathed in horror.

“Worse than _that_ ,” Harry whispered darkly. “What if she’s trying to turn it on _you_?”

Both Hermione’s gasped deeply. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” Harry urged. “You said that we didn’t meet as we remember, yeah? And that your Mum said we wouldn’t meet at all if we didn’t get involved in this? Well, what if, somehow, Molly has turned the Weasley Curse into the _Granger_ _Curse_ … as an ultimate revenge against you _?_ Against _us?_ You always said it was strange that you had very little magical ancestry at all, that even in Squibs and Muggleborns magic can sometimes skip generations. But it was just _you_. What if Molly has done something in the future, and it has affected the beginnings of the Granger family way back in the past? A family that died out over generations?”

“By preventing them having daughters!” Harry’s Hermione cried. “We wouldn’t meet because … I’d have never been born!”

“But how would she do that? What would she need?”

“She’d need a Granger girl … a Granger _daughter,”_ Hermione from the future hissed in abject terror. “ _My_ daughter! I have to go.”

A blinding rent opened up in the air of the attic. Harry shielded his eyes against it, but kept his head long enough to scream-

“Hermione! What do we do? I don't know where - or when - you have to go, but let us help you in the here and now! Tell us what to do!”

“I’m going home, to find out what that _bitch_ has done to my daughter, to my Sophie,” Hermione called back angrily. “If I fail, or if Molly captures or kills me, find out all you can about a Hector Dagworth-Granger. He was the one who placed the curse on the Weasleys in the first place. If you have to, steal a bloody Time-Turner and go back and place the damned curse yourself! Just _do not be seen!_ ”

“And what about Sirius!” Harry yelled. “What about my parents?”

“If we assume that this Ginny _scrut_ is the person I knew as St. John Weasley, Voldemort’s essence lives on inside her,” Hermione replied. “You have to find a way to draw him out in her and engage her in battle. Hit her with Expelliarmus using your Phoenix and Holly wand and complete the cycle. Your parents will emerge and they’ll know what to do next.”

“And what about me?” the younger Hermione asked. “Will I just cease to exist if Molly wins?”

“Yes, but Team Potter never loses when we work together,” came the smiling voice again. “Do what you can. If I am able, I will return to help you. If not … I hope to _be_ _you later_ , Hermione Granger. My my, it’s _ages_ since I called myself that! Hermione Potter has such a nicer ring to it, don’t you think? Oh, and Harry ... _put a ring on it_ , will you, honey?! I don’t like seeing my wedding finger without that band of beautiful Welsh Gold wrapped around it!

“I love you.”

And then she was gone.


End file.
